


The Anatomy of Blood

by winterbloom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #IDoThisInsteadOfSleeping, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Angst, Bonding, Bunker, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Family Loss, Heaven, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Impala, Inner Dialogue, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Past Relationship(s), Pining Dean, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, Relationship(s), Resurrection, Rufus's Cabin, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Self-Harm, Sleeping in the Impala, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Spells & Enchantments, Stolen Grace, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Season 12, Temporary Character Death, Undecided Relationship(s), Young John Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:26:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10116002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterbloom/pseuds/winterbloom
Summary: Michael has taken everything from Dean: his family. Simply because the hunter had put a definite end to his brother: Lucifer. His revenge is what he calls a gift. But is it really a gift? Dean has no idea what Michael did to him, what has happened to him. Prominently he faces grief and sadness right now. With nothing he thinks is worth living for, what will the last Winchester on the planet do? Or rather: how will he bring everyone back?Spoiler warning! This story is set after 12x13 of SPN!If you are looking for domestic Destiel fluff, this is not the fanfic you want to read. This is more of a heartbreaker and I hate myself for doing that to my babies. But I promise a happy end, believe it or not! Rated M for later chapters. Beware of language! ( Dean, you and your potty mouth!) There will be trigger warnings at the chapters for alcohol abuse, depression and suicidal thoughts / suicide attempts. Please do not read if these triggers apply to you. <3All arts have been done by me. I do not own any characters though, sadly!





	1. Prologue

    And there he was again, sitting on his knees in the same spot. Again, on this old boneyard outside of Lawrence, Kansas. The same spot he had been in seven years ago, seven years ago, when Sam had allowed Lucifer to slip into him, to take him as his vessel. Dean remembered it like it was yesterday. The hunter could still feel the phantom pain of his swollen face, the bruises forming under and around his eye, his vision blurry while his broken nose made his eyes tear. The blood was coagulating and making it hard for him to breathe.

    But this time there was no swollen face, no blurry vision. It was even more unsettling than the last time. Because this time, everything was absolutely clear. And there was no Lucifer smiling in menace at his face. No, this time it might even be more painful as Dean stared up into the face of a young John Winchester. He was at the age when Dean had barely opened his green eyes to the world, back in the beginning of the 1980s. It was how his father had looked when Dean had been a year or two old, tops. But his face was unmoving, even harder as Dean remembered it. The blond man felt like he was eight years old again, trying so hard to get his father’s praise, to get his approval, to be the good little soldier John had always wanted him to be. But Dean crumbled under the weight that cold glare pressed upon him. He felt helpless, he felt like the world had come shattering down. If his life had been dark before, right now it was pitch black. The smiles and laughter that made him feel like there was any kind of warmth left, like there was anything worth living for; they were gone.

    There weren’t even bodies to bury. They had disintegrated. Their essence and every cell of their beings having been carried all over the galaxy. It was what Anna had once threatened to do with Sam, so neither heaven nor hell could bring him back. Dean knew there was no chance as he smelled heavy scent of blood in the air. It was the smell of decay and iron.  
The figure in front of him that had once portrayed his father kept walking around him, pacing up and down in front of him while Dean’s head felt too heavy to be lifted. He stared down at his hands that laid limply against his thighs, fingers from time to time curling and uncurling. The 38-year old man was in a state of shock. The black working shoes John Winchester wore just kept stepping in and out of his peripheral vision while the words he heard in his father’s voice were just a blur. 

    Underneath the surface though, Dean was boiling. He could feel red hot rage well up in him. And as the clouds parted on this chilly spring day over Lawrence, the hunter squinted his eyes. The only thing right now giving him comfort was the warmth Dean could feel through his parka thanks to baby’s engine emitting her last warmth breaths through the cooler grill. But it wasn’t comfort he sought right now, it was quick and cold revenge. The squint his eyes had pulled into was because of the angel blade that laid abandoned by his right side, just a few short feet away. If only he could get hold of it and ram it into the chest of that abomination that had taken upon his father’s face to torture him with a saint’s smile upon his lips.

    Torn out of his thoughts, Dean had to face those green eyes of his father’s, that had turned more and more hazel while aging. “Oh, what is it Dean?” the man spoke in a voice that made the hunter cringe as he was still lifelessly kneeling. “It hurts quite a bit when you lose your family doesn’t it?” The other man’s lips pulled into a smug grin, making Dean want to punch it right off that face. “I never had wanted for it to come this far. I never had meant to do you any harm. But you left me no choice.” John spoke again.  
Meanwhile Dean’s face hardened, his jaw set and his stare was as piercing as John’s very own. Some traits he had to have from his father. “You son of a bitch!” Dean yelled in defiance at the other man who had gripped his chin tight. “You killed my brother. My brother. You took my destiny from me. You took the last task that had been given to me by father away from me. And you really expected me not to retaliate?” John’s face turned and he looked at the spots where the people Dean cared so much about, the people that thing carrying his father’s face had made explode. “Well mommy dearest…” John started. “Ah I can feel my vessel feeling sadness, knowing that would have been his future wife. She put up quite a fight, even if he was confused by the fact she fought as hard and effectively as a marine. I will have to wipe his memories before I send him back to 1981.” John then forced Dean’s face to turn where Sam had stood. “We all knew that your codependency was never something that actually made you stronger. You can see this as a kind of favor. A brother for a brother.” The next twist of John’s wrist made Dean see the last bits of a tan colored trench coat floating the air with a piece of blue tie laying under a tree. He never had been the kind of man who easily cried, who showed his emotions to others or in front of others, but right now in this very moment his lungs felt too small for his body as they constricted thanks to the lump in his throat that made his eyes burn and his nose tickle. Tears were threatening to fall.  
“Right. The angel on your shoulder, your broken and battered guardian angel. Looking at you two I never knew who was actually more of a failure. You or him.” Knowing he had pushed a button as Dean’s head turned back to stare with so much hatred and anger at John’s face, John could merely grin. “Sadly, both of you had eyes, but never used them to actually see. Poor little souls. Castiel had become too human in the end, even if he still carried his grace inside of him, to see what was right in front of---“

    Dean had no idea where he took that strength from. He doubted it was the adrenaline left from a fight as he took a swing at his father’s face with the brass-knuckles, engraved with Enochian symbols they had taken from the Brits. It had to be white hot rage. As quickly as he could he staggered to his feet, stumbling away from the other body, just to trip and fall. He was too weak, too beaten up to get away. This might even be the end of him. Especially once he felt those inhumanly strong hands grip at his shoulder and arm, yanking him back onto his back in the dry grass of the old cemetery. As the other tried to take a swing suddenly a white light erupted, Dean pushing the angel blade, no, the archangel blade between the ribs of what used to be his father’s body. Quietly in his thoughts he apologized for having to hurt him. His father had been more of a commanding officer than a father once his mother had died in the fire, but the man had been his father none the less. And from what Mary had told him, that before it all happened, before John had become so obsessed, he had actually been a good dad, loving his children. Maybe in his way, in his obsessed, careless and cold way, what he had done all his life until Dead had nearly been 27 and Sam 24, had been his way of loving them, of always protecting them. 

    Even if he felt remorse for what he was doing right now, he felt none for the abomination he was killing right now. He didn’t care if he ended up dead or blind as he looked at the blinding silvery white light emitting from eyes and mouth as the archangel Michael breathed his dying breath, burning six wings onto the grass of Stull Cemetery. The blast had knocked Dean back against the side of the Impala and punched his lights out good. 

* * *

    With a yelp and drenched in his own sweat, Dean shot up in his motel bed. The sheets were as scratchy as ever and he tried not to think about the questionable stains in them as he had finally fallen asleep some restless hours ago. It had been a nightmare, the same one repeating itself over and over again every night for the last week. Sadly, it wasn’t so much a nightmare, as it were his memories haunting him every night. He was still in Lawrence, Kansas. Even if Lebanon and Lawrence were only 244 miles (393km) apart. Roughly a four-hour drive. But Dean couldn’t bring himself to leave the motel. Evidence were the many take out cartons littering the table and counter of the small kitchenette. The empty bottles of scotch spoke for themselves. Not one. Not two, more like 12. The man hadn’t even bothered to shave during the last week. Rubbing his face, Dean sat in the bed, sighing. The only light coming in was the one through the curtains from outside. The lamps in the parking lot illuminated his motel room faintly. And as much as the room was a mess, so was Dean. He had shoved Mary’s and Sam’s things into a duffel and into the Impala the day he had come back from Stull Cemetery. He didn’t even have an idea how he had managed to drive the car back. 

Little did the hunter know that his nightmares, his memories were not exactly what had happened and how it had gone down. But something in his gut didn’t sit right and he could feel it. Deep down he knew. He has pushed his heightened tolerance for alcohol on his grief and his lifelong indulgence in it. His fading appetite was also a side effect of his grief. At least so it seemed to him. But that was far from the truth.

Background music: Styx – Man in the Wilderness // Bad Company – Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This is the first fic I am writing in years! Sort of my first SPN one, sort of not.
> 
> Please leave comments with your opinions or ciriticism on this fic!
> 
> English is my third language. All mistakes are mine but this i getting betaed!
> 
> Please enjoy the read!


	2. Bones into dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freaky things are starting to happen to the older Winchester. At least it gives him something to figure out and not just try to drink himself into oblivion to cope with his recent loss.
> 
> Warnings for alcohol abuse.

 

    When he had come to his senses, laying in the dry grass with the heavy scent of blood still filling his nostrils and no bodies to bury – John’s body was gone too, Dean had decided to turn to the only thing that still gave him comfort and get as far away as possible from the cemetery. Sadly, he wouldn’t make it far though.  
    Even the comfort the Impala engine’s roar and her purring brought to him, it wasn’t enough at all to stop his thoughts from running rampant in his mind. It wasn’t enough of a soothing distraction as he drove slowly out to the road over all the bumps. The muscle car crawled her way out of the cemetery, reaching the gates and the exit, but she didn’t move any further. It was due to Dean holding onto the steering wheel white knuckled, forehead resting upon those knuckles. The man simply tried to breathe right now. Since the shock had slowly worn off and realization was setting in: No Sam, no mom, no Cas. Now he was truly alone in this world.

 

    And with that feeling in his stomach he drove the short distance to the motel him and Sam had rented a room at. For who was he keeping a straight face? Checking himself in the rearview mirror, keeping his jaw set and his eyes focused. As if he still had to keep up a front not to worry Sam. A bitter laugh rolled out of his throat through his lips, the man keeping a grin on his lips as he shook his head. Was he so much a creature of habit, that instead of mourning his family he still tried to carry on, to shove it all down, in order to keep going?  
Keys slid into the lock and Dean turned them maybe a little more forcefully than needed. Then the man just stood there with his eyes closed in the dingy motel room. Dean’s chest slowly rose, up and down under his parka, which was covered in blood and grass stains.  
    If there was one thing he had learned on the road, it was to keep going, keep grinding, looking forward. But really, what was there left to look forward to? It was as if he was the only soldier from his platoon left. Left with a task that weighted him down like the whole world upon his shoulders.  
Until the man would leave that room again, a week would pass.

 

* * *

 

 

    Once his breathing had stabilized again, Dean swung his legs out of the bed. His feet and toes came into contact with the carpet and he rolled and rubbed them over the short soft bristles for just a moment. He felt damp in all the wrong places, especially on his chest. Groggily, with a groan he picked himself up, trotting over to the kitchen. A glass of water should do. He had checked, there was no scotch anymore. What had been there, Dean had used to fall asleep over the last week. Sleep hadn’t come easily to him, nor the pleasant buzz and warm fuzziness he would have felt from the alcohol.  
As he stood by the kitchenette and gulped down the water, he felt something trickle down his chest. Instinctively he touched his chin. Maybe he was even too stupid to drink by now? But his hand came back warm and dry. Touching his chest through his khaki colored shirt, his fingers came back slightly wet and black from the touch.  
“What the hell?!” Walking off to the bathroom once the glass with water had been set down, the man pulled his shirt over his head roughly, tossing it aside. A black liquid ran down the left side of his chest, from his collarbone, over his pectoral muscle, down his stomach. Wiping furiously at it, Dean then realized what was happening. His skin was bleeding out the ink of his anti-possession tattoo. What in god’s name was happening?!

 

    Too unsettled at this, with too many questions open, even he knew he couldn’t stay here any longer. Patting down the tattoo with some paper towels he waited for the ink to come completely out, because there was nothing else he could do right now. Besides that, he was absolutely okay, physically.  
Dean felt unsettled and the desire to wash off all the troubles and sorrows he had felt for the last days finally kicked in. And so, he ran the shower, ridding himself of the only last piece of clothing left on him: his underwear.  
    Passing the mirror over the sink again, he frowned, caught in mid-step. Making a step back he looked at his side, at his lower stomach. His fingers rubbed over his skin, his frown deepening. Either this was another dream or he was so drunk he was out of his mind. Where was that scar that he had gotten from a knife fight with a rogue angel? Turning his arm over, Dean tried to look at where he had cut himself often enough to prove he was human. The scars were gone as well. Curiously his fingers pressed into the space between his left shoulder and arm. The space between the bones should be bigger, the tendons stretched from how often he had dislocated it. There was no crunching sound from his bones in his body anymore. Nothing that would attest to the life he has lead, to his age. Even the scar on his chin which he had had for the last nearly 20 years was gone.

 

    Dean Winchester would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared shitless in this very moment. Either something was playing damn tricks on his mind or something serious, serious and bad was happening. Again, cosmic consequences? Something is bound to happen when you gank the devil, isn’t it?

 

    A quick shower later with thorough scrubbing, since Dean in his poor mind believed he might be able to trick himself and reverse all the crazy he had just witnessed, had the hunter pull on fresh clothing. Things were packed up in a hurry, trash thrown out, extra money left for the maid to get rid of the bottles. The blond man made sure he had everything he needed and that he hadn’t left any evidence of himself or what he did behind.

 

    For the first time in a while he put himself behind baby’s steering wheel and it was the first time in a week something like a smile tugged softly at the corner of his mouth. “Hey baby… Yes, I missed you too. You gonna take me back to Lebanon now? I left you waiting long enough, hm?” As pathetic as it may seem for an outsider, who else did he have left to talk to? This was the only thing left that reminded him of family, reminded him of home. Even the thought, or rather knowledge that this car was where his life had begun, where he had been conceived; by now, even that thought was comforting. Baby seemed to do that kind of magic. At least that was what Dean liked to think.

 

    With a rumble, she came to life and he pulled out of the parking lot. It all had started and it all ended in Lawrence. Determined, Dean promised himself never to return here again. All he had really experienced here was pain, grief, and loss. The four years he had lived with his parents had been long forgotten by now, replaced, no, overwritten with the horrors of knowing the truth there was to the world. Monsters existed. All those things parents told their kids didn’t exist, oh hell, they actually existed. And they were as fearsome, ugly and dangerous as children liked to picture them when their imagination ran wild. That kind of knowledge took the innocence out of a child and made a sobered up, if not bitter man out of it. So sober and bitter, those two characteristics might just melt into one: numb.

 

    His feelings did feel numb, dulled and fuzzy. Not the good kind of fuzzy, more the kind of fuzzy that had you disoriented and careful. It was like driving the Impala through the depths of Montana in mid-autumn when the fog was thick and unpredictable.

    Lawrence was quiet at this hour, Dean just now realizing that it was about three in the morning. With a stop for gas and only for gas he made it by seven to be back at the bunker. Parking the car in her spot he walked down the stairs that connected the garage to the electrical room. Entering the side corridor of the bunker he flipped on the lights. And as he walked down to the war room, dropping his duffel on the lit-up table, Dean saw the coffee mug Sam had used a week ago. It had dried down by now and left an ugly brown stain at the sides and bottom of the porcelain. From where he stood he saw the books left on one of the library tables, his brothers notes accompanying them. It hit him like a punch he hadn’t seen coming, in the gut. The wave of sadness that took him over in that moment had him hold onto the back of one of the office chairs at the table.

 

    Sam was gone. Back in the motel, he could have still pretended that he was out on a solo hunt, that Sam had just went out to pick up some food, or left to question a witness in his FBI gear. Here, in the bunker which had become their home over the last years, the silence, the lack of his brother was ear deafening. Even the faint trace of his mother’s perfume still hung in the air. Even though she had not really lived with them, having said she needed time, she needed space. What was there left to do here for him?

 

    Usually this would have been the moment he would grab himself another bottle of scotch and drink himself into a state where he was about to pass out. Even if only the alcohol would sleep, so to say, it would make him close his eyes for a while. Sleeping it all off seemed like the best idea he could come up with. But the last week had taught him that no matter how much alcohol he tried to drown himself in, it would not get him drunk, it would not have him a nice buzz going. With the freaky things that were happening to his body right now, it was one of the things to be added to the list. Another addition would be that even if waking up in the middle of the night after maybe two hours’ worth of sleep, driving for around four, he was not one bit tired. His eyes did not burn, his limbs didn’t feel heavy like they usually would.

 

    And for the first time in his life he did not know what to do with himself. Protect Sammy!, had always been his mission. Hunt monsters, kill those who kill innocent people had been in the second place. He had failed. Dean Winchester was a complete and utter failure in his own eyes. His mother had been brought back for him, because it had been always his biggest wish. To feel his mother’s love, to know how it felt. Not like that had gone so well, considering the last couple of months. But it was still better to have her around, even as a hunter, than suddenly having her ripped out of his life once more. And Cas… After everything these two had been through, after everything Cas had sacrificed for him, all he had forgiven and been forgiven for, Dean let him down too. The angel had always stood by his side in the end, always chosen him when push came to shove. And there he was, Dean Winchester, not able for once to return the favor for the angel, who had belonged to his family, just like his mother, just like his brother. Who had set heaven and hell in motion for him.

 

    A laugh then echoed through the empty halls of the bunker. And it was Dean’s bitter laugh. He laughed at himself. “Oh fate, you harsh mistress. Is this your payback for when Balthazar un-sank then sank the Titanic? You my dear, are hell of a vengeful bitch.” As if he was recognizing her effort he wagged his index finger. With a shake of his head he walked off to his own room. All he could do was put on some laundry now, put his things away and maybe get to the bottom of what was going on with him. If he couldn’t care for Sammy anymore, not for his mom and not for Cas, all he had left was himself, right? Even if his will for self-preservation wasn’t the biggest right now.  
    At least it gave him something to do. And he knew he was all alone with this. There was no one left to call, no one to reach out to. Sure, if he tried really hard he could call some hunters from Canada, or even Jody, but did he want to? Not really. This again had proven to him that everything, everyone he loved, he merely touched, died. Everything Dean took upon himself, he took into his hands, turned to shit. Or in this case: molecules strewn across the galaxy.

 

    He knew he couldn’t dwell on this now. Determined, with an iron will he grabbed a notepad and sat at the free table in the library, leaving things as Sam had left them. If there was one thing that Dean Winchester gave up last, it was hope. No matter how hopeless the situation seemed, no matter how the odds were stacked against him. Even if often enough he had nearly caved, given in, putting his life into someone else’s hands. Even if had been death, angels or even god and his sister. In the end, it had taken merely a good swift kick in the ass, or in Castiel’s case: an angelic beat down in a back alley, to put him back on track. Even if his vision had become darker around the edges in these moments, feeling as if everything was lit in flames and came crushing down on him, he had never given up. Dean had been a believer. Although he had to be taught how to be one.

 

     But what should he be looking for? What was even going on with him? He wrote down four things on his notepad: Healed body, no appetite, can’t get drunk and no need to rest. If he had taken a moment to calm his frantic mind, and everyone knew hindsight was a bitch with 20-20 vision, he would have immediately connected the dots. But years spent with John Winchester were returning to the surface and over the next days the aged hunter should be nothing less than obsessed with trying to find out what was going on with him. His father’s obsession and blindness had become his own traits right now. Was this how John had felt when Mary had left him? If Dean took a moment to think about this situation, he would most probably agree. Sadly, in years this would be the first moment he actually felt connected, felt close to the man who had been more his drill instructor than his father. Now he might know why John had been the way he had been. Maybe John had tried to prepare Dean for as long as he lived, for such a moment. To be hard, to keep on fighting, to carry on.

 

* * *

 

 

     Dean had lost track of time. The books were stacked on the floor, on the table besides him. It was as if the hunter had built a fort of them around himself. Once he had found the catalogue with all the Men of Letters books, files and dossiers, searching for what might help him would become easier. Of course, the man knew he was not turning into a vampire or werewolf. Or ghoul, ghost, wendigo, rugaru, kitsune, okami… And all those other common monsters he could come up with from the top of his head. And definitely not a Jefferson Starship. And so, the search for keywords began. Transformation, transmogrification, metamorphosis, change, changing, transgression, shift, transition, alteration, modification, permutation, mutation?  
“Well, this is a big pile of jack with a side of squat served with it.” Dean grunted out between his teeth, rubbing his face while his elbows rested upon the dark polished wood of the table. Holding his head by the temples, the hunter let his eyes dart over the papers and books strewn all over the table. The only thing the internet had been good for was finding synonyms for the word transformation. Anything else he typed into the search bar of the search program Charlie had left them came up with freaky witch forums, conspiracy theories and wanna be occultists and satanists boards.

 

     Rubbing the pad of his middle finger between his eyes, frustration being an 8.9 on the Richter scale right now, another grunt escaped him. He pushed some of the papers and books further along the table, smoothing some hanging over the edge of the table back before suddenly hissing. “Son of a…!” A paper cut. But those usually hurt and burnt more than a proper knife to the flesh. Looking at the inside knuckle of his pinky finger, Dean frowned. “Okay dude. You so need some sleep. You are starting to see shit. You are damn well hallucinating.”

 

     There had been a fine red line across his knuckle which had closed and simply disappeared. And the man had been shaken to his core. The churning and unsettling feeling in his gut returned.

    “What time is it?” It was the sudden realization as he had been too busy with research; actually, something he really despised. Looking at his black bulky watch, he realized it was early afternoon. But the date didn’t seem to be correct. Or was it? Turning the laptop back to where he sat, Dean pulled up his browser’s history. Something he had learned to clean and check upon during the times Sam and him had shared, or when he had gotten lessons from Frank. Looking at the websites he had visited and the dates above them, the hunter realized that his watch was not lying. Four days had passed without him noticing.

 

    “Okay Winchester, this is it. You have suffered so many blows to your head you are going crazy. You probably have some tumor pressing on some part of your brain that threw you off your rocker.” He had no other choice than talk to himself, or the walls. But those wouldn’t answer.

    Hadn’t him and Sam seen this movie once about how football players’ brain matter changed from the constant blows to the head and concussions, making them crazy and violent?  
Right now he was starting to actually consider medical options. Maybe he should indeed visit the local hospital and get an MRI, x-rays, a full checkup even, to see what the hell was wrong with him?

 

    His eyes fell on the bottle of beer on the next table and the empty plate he had eaten a sandwich from. Even in his best days he could never go more than 48 hours without sleep. Without food and drink even less. Was his mind playing tricks on him or did he really only have one sandwich and one beer in the last approximately 96 hours?  
“Maybe this is all a bad dream? Maybe I had my ass kicked by Lucifer and Sam is sitting beside me with his worried puppy dog eyes, waiting for me to wake up. And Cas yeah, Cas is probably reassuring him nothing is wrong with me and that I will wake up. Mom might even step over to put her hand on his shoulder. Or she went to the Piggly Wiggly again… Right? They are all there and this is a bad, bad dream. Right?” The thought was comforting and a display of his grief and sadness, but who was he kidding? He had seen their bodies blown to bits, felt the red rain fall onto him and the yellow and green half dried grass. Even the little yellow flowers at the side at been drizzled by the blood of his family.

    Deep down he knew he was wide awake and this was reality. But hope dies last, they say. Just for the sake of it he pinched himself, a sigh longer than he intended it to be, leaving him as his shoulders slumped. Hospital it was.

Background music: Aerosmith - Dream on // Blue Oyster Cult - Don't fear the reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto writing chapter 2! We will finally get to know what really happened to Dean at Stull Cemetery!


	3. Dreamland Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean visits the hospital to find out what is wrong with him. Will answers be provided? He turns to a known frenemy for help but that doesn't end well for him. Another player shows up on the field, helping Dean finally out to bring more clarity into his situation.
> 
> Sadness, angst and drama continues!
> 
> Thanks go to the lovely The_Scheming_Turtle, for being a quick and encouraging beta!

  
     

 

7 am sharp and looking crisp as freshly baked apple pie, Dean found himself in front of the local hospital. Smith County Memorial it was then. Waltzing in and taking a look around, memories of the last day flooded his mind. After he had made the decision to actually get himself checked up, Dean had busied himself mostly with chores. Which meant the laundry he had put in four days ago, had to get done.

     But curiosity killed the cat, and in the evening, he had found himself in the kitchen, preparing a bacon cheeseburger with homemade fries. It was not like he needed sleep anymore and inside the bunker it was hard to recognize the time of the day anyway. Maybe he didn’t need sustenance, but boy was the Winchester gonna be pissed if he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a liver fattening, artery clogging bacon cheeseburger anymore. Who cared by now if he died of heart failure? He definitely didn’t. Maybe the world would spin on without him.

 

    With food and a beer, he had sat down at their picnic style table in the kitchen, twisting the cap off the bottle, before grabbing the warm burger. On the inside, Dean was praying to Chuck for all it was worth, that he would still have a sense of taste. The groan that escaped the man a moment later was nearly inhumane. Yes, he could still taste it, and right now it was definitely more appetite than hunger that made him devour that piece of American food culture.

 

    It was the same with the beer. He was not thirsty but he could still taste and enjoy it. So far, so good. It calmed his nerves slightly but not all the way. But with nothing better to do and no motivation just to pick up his gun and blade again, to go hunting again, to keep on grinding, he became his own lab rat.  
     Yes, usually Dean was that person who needed to kill something, to get his hands dirty, to busy his mind so he could shove his feelings deep down, to keep on fighting. But who or what would he keep fighting for at this point? Without Sam, Mary and Cas around… did he even still care if monsters ate the world? How many times had he bled for this cause, risked his life, actually died? How often had he heard a “thanks”, or gotten a pat on his shoulder? He could count that happening on the fingers of his two hands.

    This shit had actually taken his childhood away. No “I wuv hugs” t-shirts anymore and the crust cut off his toast. He just felt no desire to do anything. If he was to sit and watch the dust settle in the bunker, he would even do that. Everything sounded better than facing what had taken his whole damn life from him away, again.

 

    Sleep came to him that night, after half a bottle of Jack and telling his frantic mind just to “shut up and goddamn sleep already!”. Once Dean reached sheep 548 the relaxation settled into his bones and he felt himself drifting off, but not focusing on it. He knew that would just make him too conscious again. At five in the morning he jumped awake. He hadn’t set an alarm or anything but thought it would be good to get up at this hour to go to the hospital. You didn’t get shit done in hospitals in the afternoon, obviously. Mindlessly, he blamed it on his inner clock that he was up right now. But since he was already up, he walked to the shared bathroom for the inhabitants of the bunker. Him and Sam had always used separate stalls and with his change of clothes in his hand, he looked over, seeing his brother’s shampoo and body wash, sitting on the shelf by the stall he used to use.  
     Dean never had perceived himself as particularly girly, but the thought crossed his mind to stride over there and smell Sam’s shampoo. Even if he had bitched at him so often to get that shaggy hair of his taken care of. He knew seeing this, reminding himself, would only make it worse and so he left the bathroom just to come back with a trash bag. His own change of clothes was left on one of the benches in the room as he walked over the white tiled floor, the boots he had slipped his feet into loosely after getting up, making squeaking noises on the ground. He grabbed item after item of the shelf and just threw it into the bag. But he was far from done. Bag in hand, he marched over to his brother’s room. With a creak the door slowly opened and Dean suddenly felt a hundred pounds heavier. He started to clean out the room, starting with Sam’s toothbrush, then his clothes. Flannel after flannel. Dean would not keep them, not wear them. First of all, they were gigantor size, second why twist the knife still stuck in the wound more, continue to remind yourself of the pain? Yes, a Winchester’s, correction: the Winchester’s – since he was the only one left, mourning and grief period was drastically shorter than those of normal people. Whatever normal truly meant.  
     Dean had lost so many people he just never stopped to let it all rain down on him. And he never stopped to sit down and cry his heart out like others did. He just put it in a box deep down inside of himself, locked it, threw the key into the pit of hell and the box into the ocean heaven swam in. Adios, let’s never see you again unnecessary feelings that just weigh you down and cloud your judgement and make you a whiny bitch.

 

    He left the files and books in Sam’s room. They hadn’t really been his brother’s to begin with. Dean did take his journal though. It was filled with information and hunts, but it was not what Dean took it for. Like nearly 100% of these hunts had been with him. It was something like a photo book to other people. They had done the same to Bobby and John. Those who were their family. The thought was only minor consolation, but like this Sam always would be with him. Sam and his scratchy writing. Must be John’s genes, since his dad wrote like freakin’ Yoda too.

    For a moment, Dean stopped and wondered if his mother had kept something like a journal? But he had honestly no idea where she had lived all this time. Probably as a nomad in motel rooms. And Sam was his brother; going through his stuff was not a problem, but with his mother he felt as if he was prying. But he would probably not get around it either. No one besides him was left to take care of this anyways. Who should he tell what secrets he might have found? It’s not like his image of his mother could change even more than it had the last few months. The woman he had idolized, put on a pedestal, had turned out to be not quite the gentle angelic human his childish blue-eyedness had made her out to be. Again, hindsight was always 20-20 and a bitch.

 

    Dean collected anything that still had a value to him or that might be of use later for the man – how come he was still considering hunting? – before sitting down on the bed his mother had slept in for a night or two when she visited. Well, if she did, whenever that was.

    But Dean was a man of habit it seemed, thinking already about the next hunt. Some things he just couldn’t shake off. And he knew someday soon his instincts would kick in along with cabin fever. Like a damn itch, he had to scratch.

 

     With a sigh, he placed down the trash bag, hands slightly shaking. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started shaking. His mind had been mostly clear, the man purposefully steering it away from any chick-flick girly breakdown moments. As he pulled the drawer of the desk open, he found something like his mother’s journal. It was obviously barely used. The leather was still pretty hard and not just flapping back, how he was used to. Her handwriting was pretty, cursive and had the right spacing. And when wanting to emphasize a word, she made the spaces between letters bigger, or wrote in capital ones, not just wildly scribbling to make them thicker. Symbols were drawn with care. It reminded Dean of the English monks, who used to paint the pictures for bindings of the Christian bible.

    Flipping a page, he found a transparent envelope in the bindings. The first photo that practically glared at him more than he glared at it, was one of Sam and Dean, as grownups. The picture showed them laughing at the kitchen table, being brothers, being little boys, throwing the tin foil wrappings of a burger at each other while his mother watched on, with a smile but without any comment to make them stop. It had probably made her feel like, yes indeed, these were her boys. No matter if 34 years had passed, no matter if Dean was actually older now than his own mother when she had died. She hadn’t really aged in heaven.

    A sad smile crept onto his face as he remembered Sam’s teasing words. He had made fun of him, telling their mother the anecdote about the dog spell and how Dean had kept fetching the food wrapping and giving it back to Sam as if they played ball. Of course, Dean had made a fuss and told his brother to shut his cakehole, before threatening him with another ball of tin foil. That thing had just wanted to be thrown right at that mullet of moose hair.

 

    With his body having a mind of his own he caressed the photo absentmindedly, blinking his thick lashes when he saw a drop of moisture hit its surface. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he cried. He cried at the loss, he cried at the unbelievable unfairness the universe dished out to him. He cried for his father, for his other father who had the last name Singer. He cried for his brother, for his mother, for Charlie, for Kevin, he even cried for having left Lisa and Ben behind. He cried for never seeing Cas’ funny little head tilt anymore. His face scrunched up and twisted when it all came tumbling down at him. This time it was no quiet man-tears crying. This time it was full out gross sobbing with his breath hitching, Dean nearly hyperventilating.

    The dam had broken.

 

* * *

 

    “Dammit, Winchester, focus.” Dean mumbled under his breath to himself as he slightly shook his head to clear his mind. There was no use in reliving the past at this point. He was alone. The last survivor of this tale. “Yeah, the Winchester Gospel.” The man sarcastically muttered before walking up to the young nurse sitting behind the reception desk. He plastered on his most charming smile, leaning onto the counter, looking down at the blonde. She might be in her mid-20s, tops. Usually she would just be his kind of prey.

 

    “Hi there.” His low voice rumbled in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing with the words.

    “Hello to you too.” A smile found the way to her lips. Bingo. Charms still did work on women. But was he interested? Not really. It maybe where more means to get this ordeal speeded up and not spend all day sitting around in the waiting area.

    “I’d like to see a doctor and get a full checkup.” Dean told her, the nurse starting to ask for his symptoms, making him hum in thought: “I have insomnia, loss of appetite, and at times I start missing time. Like days could pass without me realizing.” Her carefully plucked brow rose up in confusion. Maybe she thought he was really broken, maybe that he was a freak. “My brother died 11 days ago, so did my mother and best friend. They were in an accident.” His ability, just like his manly charms, seemingly was still intact.

 

    “Oh, you poor thing!” the young nurse exclaimed, putting her warm hand onto one of his parka clad lower arms. “Don’t worry honey. We will get you checked and fixed. Let me call a doctor while you fill out these forms for me okay? Insurance card?” Opening his wallet, Dean picked his only honest to god real insurance card, quickly memorizing the name on top of it before handing it to her. He would definitely have to write the same name on the forms. Stepping to the side, once handed the forms he began to fill them out. Handing it back to her, signed and everything, she motioned to a chair close by in the waiting area, making him sigh. He hated waiting and twiddling his thumbs. Something he never had been good at.

 

    Around 30 minutes later, which seemed to be pretty quick for how long people usually waited around here a man slightly shorter than him in a white lap coat, carrying a clipboard, approached him. “Mr… Wedge Antilles?” he asked, Dean looking up and standing a brief moment later. “Yep, that’s me.” With a smile the dark-haired man motioned for him to come forward and follow him. “Hello, I am Dr. Sloan. Let’s take you to an examination room and find out what is wrong with you.”

 

    Oh boy, man you got no idea about all that shit that is wrong with me – Dean thought to himself as he patiently walked the halls, a short distance, to an examination room. The smell of disinfectant and medical tools filled his nostrils and he immediately hated the place. He had always hated that smell. Being told to take of his jacket and to sit, he did as he was told. Again, he explained his situation and his symptoms, making the other man slightly frown.

 

    “Seems like we should do a whole checkup. Blood pressure, full blood test and an MRI.” Of course, they would. His insurance covered all kinds of procedures so why not make use of it and bring some bucks into this hospital, hm? Curtly, Dean nodded, letting the man check his blood pressure. “120 to 70. Pulse 62. Your blood pressure is right out of the book: perfect.” He scribbled something down before getting up. “Please get comfortable. I will send you nurse to draw blood while I make arrangements for your MRI.” He was about the leave, when Dean spoke up. “Can we do an X-ray too, just for my peace of mind?” The doctor gave a nod, telling him it was no problem. Why should it be when everyone knew he could easily pay for it.

    Of course, the young nurse had volunteered to take his blood, coming in with a tray of syringes, vials and one of those belts to impair his blood flow. Shedding his flannel, leaving his slightly tan and freckled arms only covered by the short sleeves of a t-shirt, he expectantly looked over at her. He even rolled the sleeve of his right arm up, once more noticing how flawless his skin suddenly was. Keeping his anxiety about the matter under a tight lid, he stretched his arm out, softly placing the back of his wrist upon her knee as she sat on a low stool. Oh, she definitely didn’t mind the contact as she didn’t pull away, but her breathing picked up and her hands slightly shook. She tied the belt around his arm, picking up the butterfly needle, which was connected to a thin flexible tube. With a charming smile, Dean lowered his head a bit so he could look at her face, bringing himself into her peripheral vision. “Relax…” For a moment, he read her name tag. “Kelly. This arm will not bite you or crumble under your touch. I’m tough.” Seemingly his little speech worked as a little pink flush played upon her cheeks and she felt his veins. One little prick and his blood flowed into the vials. Pressing a swab on the tiny and angry red dot on his arm, she told him to hold it there till the bleeding stopped. With a flurry of blonde hair, she was out, turning at the doorway to look back at him. “I still got game.” Dean said with a smirk to himself, laying back against the examination couch.

 

    All this time though when he had touched her, something had screamed in his mind. It had been a dirty, weird feeling. Nearly vile, making him want to pull his hand back. With a frown, he wondered if he had ever felt like this before with a girl he obviously thought was attractive. Even if he was absolutely not in the mood to hook up with her. He might kill her in her sleep, since he had no idea what was going on with him and what he might become. Maybe he would turn into some monster?

 

    The rest of his stay in the hospital consisted of more waiting, walking the halls with Kelly and getting into the different machines of this hospital. X-rays were fairly easy. They were quick. MRIs always took at least 15 minutes where you were barely allowed to breathe. The quiet under the headphones to block out the rave party-like sounds of the magnets moving in that huge tube had him close to bursting into a fit of laughter. Even if it would have only been a momentary and empty amusement. One thing he kept in mind though: he had to get his hands on his X-ray pictures before anyone else did.

 

    An hour later he was lead back to the examination room he had been occupying for the duration of his stay. A quick glance at the watch over the door told him he had been in here for three hours by now. Kelly had been kind enough to bring him some water, even asking if he wanted coffee, which Dean had denied. The thing that got his attention though were the X-ray pictures hung up on one of those lit backgrounds on the wall. He took a double take at them, definitely reading his fake name on his seemingly fake pictures. “Where the hell are the sigils?!” He barely had a moment to check the pictures really when Dr. Sloan entered the room, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “Well, Mr. Antilles.” Oh boy, what was he about to tell him. “Do I have a brain tumor?” Dean immediately asked, expecting an answer. “On the contrary, you are 100 percent healthy.” Wait, what? “Your blood work came back totally clean and normal. Liver and kidneys are working fine. Leukocyte count, hemoglobin count, heart enzymes, all perfectly within the norms. No drops or elevations even to the top or bottom of the range. The MRI of your brain and internal organs came back clean. All X-rays are flawless. Seems like you never even had a nicked bone in your life.”

 

    Of course, for a normal person those were good news. Damn good ones even. But Dean tried so hard not to let the color drop out of his face. His body should be a war zone. A history, a damn ten volume unfinished chronicle like The Song of Ice and Fire - of all the beatings, cuts, broken bones and blows to the head he had gone through. His liver should be at least a little, well, let’s say he usually thought it would resemble more the hardness of a shoe sole than meat happily and softly flapping around in his abdominal cavity.

    “Your symptoms might be completely psychological.” No shit, Sherlock? What you don’t say. Again, Dean’s cynicism flared up. “I recommend you schedule an appointment with our in-house psychiatrist. You can do that at the reception desk at the front. I wish you all the best. If any other symptoms come up or you start feeling worse, please don’t hesitate to come and see me again.” The man with his short hair and blue eyes held out his hand in a friendly gesture for their goodbye. Dean shook it, musing in his head how his eyes were nothing in comparison to the endless azure blue of the ones Cas’ used to stare him down with.

    The doctor left and Dean sighed, picking up his flannel and jacket. Well this had been quite a waste of time. He was not one bit closer to finding out what the hell was happening to him. With a smile and small wave, he walked past Kelly and the reception desk. She was obviously a little disappointed she didn’t get to talk more to him or properly say goodbye. Or rather tell him when her shift ended.

    But Dean Winchester and a psychiatrist? Once they would start digging around in his brain, if he told the truth, he would never see the light of day again. They would tell him again that he had a narcissistic personality disorder, anxiety and religious delusions. Worse: talking about feelings. Nope, not having that again. Been there, done that, burnt the t-shirt. No more nut houses for him.

 

    He was facing a stalemate right now. At least that was his realization when he drove slowly through Lebanon back to the bunker. He watched people busy on the streets, doing their daily things on this sunny autumn day. His mind became blank as he followed the roads to the bunker. Once he parked baby in her designated spot an idea popped into his head. One he did not like one bit.

    If books did not help him, neither did a full checkup of his body, that body that was so virginal in every kind of way that the thought made him cringe, what should he do? He had to ask someone, someone with greater knowledge, who was older than him. Bobby wasn’t around anymore, sadly. All angels he would have dared to ask were dead: Balthazar, even if he was a bag of dicks with a British accent, Gabriel who – for a second he wondered if this wasn’t something like TV land again. But since Gabriel had faced his own family, saying enough to Sunday dinner, Dean doubted the trickster, imposer Norse god and archangel would do this to him. And the last angel had been Cas. That only left the dark side of things.

 

    With a displeased grunt, he fetched the smartphone from his pocket, opening his contacts and pressing onto a name. Putting the phone to his ear he paced a little, grumbling. When it rang thrice and no one picked up he checked his display. In huge numbers, it said: 666. So, the right number had been dialed.

 

    “Squirrel, to what do I owe the pleasure?” came Crowley’s annoying Scottish accent with his nonchalant attitude through the phone.

    “I need a favor.” Closing his eyes, Dean already dreaded the sassy and cocky answer he might get. “Oh, is that so? The last time I did you guys a favor I bloody lost my son!” Well that was still a sore topic it seemed. “And I saw my mother, my brother and Cas getting blown into pieces by Michael who let their blood come down on me as red rain eleven days ago!” The Winchester yelled at the demon on the other end of the line, rewarded with silence before Crowley cleared his throat.

    “But only for old time’s sake. Spending too much time with a Winchester usually gives me a headache.” was Crowley’s answer.

    “Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I need to find out what the hell is going on with me. Meet me at the bar in Lebanon. Imma buy you one of your fancy drinks. Yes, the one with the little umbrella and devil trident thingie.”

    “It’s a date then. Don’t leave me waiting, squirrel. You know I don’t like teases.” The call ended with a click and Dean grunting in his throat at the antics of the king of hell. But what options did he have left? Crowley was not exactly an ally. But was he an enemy? Dean didn’t know. But what he knew was that during the last years grey zones had established themselves between the usual black and white thinking of the Winchester boys. There wasn’t just good and bad anymore. Not all monsters were evil, they had realized. And with Crowley it was more about having an enemy you knew, or letting him live and taking out together the greater enemy. Dean wouldn’t deny he actually had a tiny bit of fun howling at that moon with the Scotsman. If you ignored the whole mark of Cain problem.

 

    The drive to the bar was uneventful and he thought that hey, even if he couldn’t get drunk, don’t hate the alcohol and give it a taste. But he stuck to beer since he still had to drive. Which was a totally illogical thought, but Dean couldn’t and didn’t want to get used to this situation. The drink for Crowley waited besides Dean as he sat at the bar, flipping the coaster between his fingers. Of course, the king of hell was fashionably late. But he did show in his usual suit, coat and dark magenta tie. Without a thought, he walked towards Dean, about to greet him with some witty line he always had on his lips before stopping dead in his tracks. Dean turned to him about to scold him for taking so long and being such a dick when he saw the look of utter horror on Crowley’s face. He even froze, before without a sound or drawing any attention from the other patrons in the bar, he vanished.

    “Son of a bitch!” the hunter cursed under his breath and squeezed the carton coaster in his hand, crumbling it, then pulling out his phone. “Is that douchebag kidding me?” Angrily he dialed his number about to give him a piece of mind about how he had no time for his games, but no one picked up. Again, he tried, and another time. Calling him around six more times over the last thirty minutes that had just passed. At his last call, he didn’t even get the free-line signal, but a mechanic voice told him that that phone had been disconnected. Not the oh hey you can’t reach this person right now because they have no service. No, it was more of a: this number isn’t in service anymore speech.

 

    Constantly cursing Crowley on the way back after he had downed his beer and angrily paid, trying not let it out on the barkeeper, Dean arrived back to the bunker. He was this close to either calling the witch – he might even play them again each other since they were not really family – or summon Crowley’s ass into the dungeon into a trap and interrogate whatever he needed out of him.

    But then his phone rang, with a number he didn’t know, but it wasn’t a ‘Caller ID unknown’ one. It had a Kansas state code even. A landline.

    “Hello?” Dean answered gruffly, about to yell a shitstorm at anyone that would go on his nerves right now. Unless it was a hunt and he needed to help, even if he barely cared to anymore.

    “Dean, darling I am so sorry.” The voice sounded known, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I know what happened to you and your family. There are no words for how deeply I feel for you boy. But there is something I need to show you. I have these repeating visions of you. I tried to ignore them but they keep coming back. I guess it is time to help you out a bit.”

    “Missouri??”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

     And even though he had promised himself never to step a foot into Lawrence again, here he was. Once the call had ended, he had gotten into the Impala again. A quick gas stop and he had driven down those 277 miles like his life depended on it. It was early evening when he parked the car in front of the now elderly woman’s house. Before he could even climb up to the porch completely and knock, she already was opening the door. Her smile was warm and welcoming and she immediately took the hunter into her arms. “I am so sorry…” Her words and attitude were like a soothing balm on his soul. Though by now Dean even wondered if he had that intact, considering all the weird things that were happening to him.

     Before he could really finish the thought he already got smacked on the shoulder. “Don’t you dare think such things!” Missouri sighed, stepping aside to let him into the house. “You are as dumb as your daddy. You had so many good things going for you, Dean. And you always threw it away again because you think this has to be your life, that you do not deserve better. Your dad still has a grip on you from the grave, even though he has been dead for many years now.” She talked and he just kept quiet since there was no use in arguing with her. Besides the fact that deep down the man knew that she was right.

     “Why have you never called me if you needed help?” Came the question and Dean was about to say that they hadn’t known if she even was still alive. But she gave him this look again so he clicked his jaw shut. “And don’t use Pamela Barnes as an excuse.” Another person on Dean’s list whose death he was responsible for. But this thought earned him another smack, before the hand that had smacked him laid upon his shoulder. “But thank you, son. For all you have done, for as often as you have put your life on the line to save the lives of many. It is time that someone helps you for once. Come on let’s get you seated n have some tea. No, you will drink the tea.” And he hadn’t even said anything. But this whole mindreading was starting to make him feel queasy. “The thing I am about to tell you might require you to be seated.” Well that already sounded not pleasant or promising at all.

 

     Once Dean sat and sipped on the tea, which didn’t even taste bad, he leaned back, watching the woman sitting across from him. He had no idea what was about to happen, what was expecting him here.

 

     Meanwhile Missouri studied him, making her own notes in her mind that what she had seen must be true, since for her the hunter gave off a weird kind of vibe, a weird energy around him she had never felt around him before. “I will just give you the bottom line of the story from what I have seen in my visions.” Dean perked up, sitting closer to the table now, elbows propped up on his knees. “The nightmares you have, your memories replaying is not how it really happened.” Missouri stated matter-of-factly, causing Dean to frown. He wasn’t even able to ask what she meant before she continued to speak. “There has been a lot more going on that eludes you, that your mind tries to push out for the sake of your sanity. And yes, I am talking about the event that took place eleven days ago, on Stull Cemetery.” She had felt it happening, all the energy, the death, the destruction. But Missouri had never been one to meddle with the path the universe had chosen.

 

     “I want to know.” Dean said quietly, his own voice nearly betraying him as the memories came crashing back into him. His arms dropped from his knees as he folded his hands, needing something to hold onto before he might start shaking once more.

     “Lay down. And don’t you dare put your shoes on my couch, boy.”

     “I wasn’t even…” And then Dean just gave up with the hint of a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. He toed his shoes off and laid on the old but comfortable couch that had a crocheted blanket put over the back.

     “Okay. This might become uncomfortable, as I have to hypnotize you, so you can consciously revisit your memories. I cannot just copy what I saw into your mind, so you have to find out yourself. If it gets too much, if you get too restless I will pull you back. Don’t worry, you are safe here with me. I can feel anything weird in the radius of 20 miles if it should come for either of us. If that happens I am pulling you out of the hypnosis too.”

     “Do it.” He said with a nod, closing his eyes before she started softly speaking to him, telling him to regulate his breathing, focus on her voice and follow her down the path she would lead him on. Once she would count to three and clap her hands three times he would wake up.

 

    “You are standing at the gates of Stull Cemetery and have left your car here.” She began, Dean already picturing that old boneyard, his shoes making soft noises on the gravel ground. “You walk up the path, up the hill, where the tree stands by the road and the yellow flowers sway in a soft breeze. You can feel it on your face.” Constantly Missouri kept a steady eye on her dead friend’s son. “What do you see once you reach the field at the top of the hill?” She knew exactly where everything had gone down.

    “I see myself… and Michael. And he keeps pacing and talking. Switching between English and… Enochian?” The hunter displayed another frown on his face. In his memory, this fact already had totally eluded him. “Good, good.” Missouri praised him in a soft voice. “Try to make out what he is saying, what he is doing.”

    “But I can’t understand…” Dean complained faintly, in a defeated voice. “You have to try. It is your memory. Language is universal. It is there, Dean. Just do it. Don’t think too much about it.”

 

    And before Dean realized he was sucked into his memory, just this time feeling less shocked and more conscious as he kneeled by the Impala and the archangel wearing his young father’s face kept pacing in circles. His vision was still blocked mostly as he could not move his head since he kept staring at his hands, but he could hear every word Michael was saying. Another whiff of blood came to his nose, but it was not the blood of his family but fresh blood. And since he himself was not the one opening a vein, the only logical conclusion was that it was Michael.

    “For what you have done, for how much you have hurt me and broken my heart, I will give this feeling back to you.” Those words Dean had not heard Michael say before to him. “I will gift you with something usually everyone wants. But for you it will be damnation. It will be the biggest punishment as you will never see your family ever again.” On Missouri’s couch Dean was becoming restless and squirming by now, but it was not bad enough that she pulled him out. She knew him, he wouldn’t want to, even if he might hurt himself by staying in his memory.

    Dean wanted so badly to yell at the archangel, to ask him what it was, what he wanted from him. But then more Enochian chanting happened and Michael walked in patterns and circles on the grass before grabbing onto Dean’s face, tilting his head up. What Dean realized now was that the angel had smeared his own blood onto his face, on each cheek with thumb and index finger as he had gripped his face.

    "I will give you the gift of immortality. A life till the end of time until everything becomes nothing and you fade, heaven fades, hell and your family will fade. I damn you to eternal life. Nothing will be able to kill you. Not even you yourself with any weapon.” Michael spoke with so much poison and malice in his voice, that the conscious Dean cringed involuntarily. But then the hunter realized that Michael actually let him get away, averted his attention on purpose as he had hit him and stumbled for the angel blade. He had purposefully let his guard down, which Dean did not understand, at all.

    “What will be left of the personality I had will return to heaven and I shall live on with my brethren as energy to power the heavenly host.” Michael said as he turned Dean around and halted his own punch. “With this, you will seal the spell.” And Dean, as blinded by rage and pain as he had been had killed him in cold blood, his hands seemingly acting faster than his brain again. What had knocked him back and out a moment later then, was not the grace that had left Michael, but the spell that punched into him with such force it was as if a truck had hit him. He could consciously feel, even if he couldn’t see, how his face began to heal, how the spell started to change him on a molecular level.

    Michael had succeeded.

 

Background music: Styx – Renegade / / Creedence Clearwater Revival – Fortunate Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the drama and inner dialogue is not too much for you guys. Please feel free to comment on it.  
> Off to writing chapter 3. The angst peakes!


	4. Nomad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a minor breakdown after getting to know to some extent what is happening to him. Realization sets in and so does his flight reflex. The man leaves the bunker to do the only thing he knows how to do on autopilot: hunt. Meanwhile Crowley starts his own little journey of trying to find out what exactly happened to the Winchester. And then Dean gets to know his gift a little bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for:**  
>  Self-Harm  
> Attempted Suicide  
> Graphic Descripton of Violence  
> Lots of Blood and Gore  
> As always, language
> 
> Again betaed by the lovely The_Scheming_Turtle

  
   

    He had gone back the same night, politely declining Missouri’s offer to house him until morning. He needed time alone. Even if he felt shaky and unsettled once more. Poor Baby having to deal with his occasional swerving on the empty backroads. If he didn’t love the car so much he wouldn’t care at this point if he drove off the road into a tree.

    What he had gotten to know during his short visit at Missouri’s seemed to fit into the picture. The healing, the reduced or rather complete absence for any kind of sustenance.

 

    Dean never had been one to think he was worthy, or good enough to actually be accepted into heaven. Especially not after everything he had done. And he didn’t only think about the sins he committed. He had actively taken part in ruffling more than one angel’s feathers. Even though he had been the key figure to getting god and his sister back to getting along. But what was left then for him? Hell? He might get bored to death. If one could really die in hell that was and not wait in line and punch a ticket.

    The man had absolutely no idea what was waiting for him in the afterlife. But a tiny part of him had hoped, that maybe, mercy existed. That the scale would tip in his favor and he would go to heaven. It didn’t matter that he would be alone, that he would be without a soulmate to share his heaven with. But there he would be able to see them all again. Sammy, Cas and Mary. And Bobby, Kevin and Charlie, all while reliving his best memories. Maybe he would be pulled into the roadhouse heaven by Ash and then travel and visit the others’ heavens? But without the prospect of a well-deserved death someday, and he would go out with a bang as a warrior, he knew so much – at least that had always been his idea, there was nothing to look forward to. No dying of old age or a non-functioning liver. That was for sure.

 

    But Dean wouldn’t be Dean if he would let himself sulk and get his eyes watery. Michael seemed to bring out the same emotion in Dean over and over again: rage. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel the last few meters to the bunker. After that, entering the building through the garage he started to smack doors shut, every single one he had opened and wanted to close. The man started pacing through the war room, back and forth by the lit-up table, rubbing his face in annoyance. His hands were tied and he had no idea what to do. The slight beard he had grown over the last days stood at weird angles as his hand continued to rub his face angrily, fingernails slightly dragging over his skull, then down the sides of his face.

    He would have to find that spell, try to reverse it, anything. Even ask Rowena about it. Maybe there was something about it in the Book of the Damned?

    His mind went a million miles per hour at this point and he kept pacing, now into the library, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Where was that damn book? He had no idea. He had no idea about the filing and storing system of the Men of Letters. That had always been Sam’s thing. And he had never cared to listen, just letting the words go in one ear, then go out the other one. If only he had known he would lose his brother this quickly, he would have listened more, bitched less at him. But that is the problem with the what ifs. They don’t really calm your mind. And then the scale tipped and his rage turned itself against him. Blindly he grabbed on the stacks of books he had left there just throwing them off the table, taking down the lamp with it. Still on the cord, it took a slingshot at him and crashed against his left arm. He felt the warmth of his own blood running down his fingers as his arms hung limply by his sides. It had stung, but the pain was rather welcome. The glass had pierced his shirt and bore itself into the flesh of his arm. But he paid it no mind. His eyes had gone from their unfocused state to the mug of coffee Sam had used which Dean still had not touched. Now he touched it and it landed in a crash against the wall.

 

    The hunter heaved, both hands pressed on the surface of the table. The flexing of his muscle gave him more pain as the bigger shards of glass were still stuck in his arm. Slowly he plucked them out, one by one, dropping them to the ground, tainted with his blood. The color looked so red to him, Dean felt that his own blood was screaming at him. He shed his flannel and looked down at his arm as he held the last piece of glass in his hand. He watched the cuts close and his skin turn back to that slightly tan color.

 

    The man’s face was emotionless as he brought the shard he still held to his arm and cut. Not deep enough to open a vein, but deep enough to see his blood flow out of the deep cut. It closed momentarily and healed, not even any redness left. And so, he cut again, slowly sliding down the leg of the table to sit on the ground as he did so. He never took his eyes away from what he was doing though. But the same happened, no matter how deeply he cut. He cut repeatedly, all over the inside of his lower arm before dropping the glass and laughing, hollowly. He ran a bloodied hand over his face up into his hair, not caring how much like a maniac he was looking right now. There was no one to see anyway. The laugh died down before he spoke to himself: “You are a monster. You have become one of the things you hunt.” Again, he laughed, the laugh empty and bitter, his lips curling but his eyes having no expression whatsoever. They then closed and he leaned his head back against the table. “I need to get out of here. I am not a legacy to this organization anymore. I am an abomination.”

 

    To him there was indeed nothing left there for him. Not even a tiny flicker of hope. And so, he would pack up whatever he needed, throw out any food he wouldn’t take and hit the road. Once more his flight reflex had kicked in and he fled the place.

    And now it was just how it used to be. Just him and his baby.

    If he could not get hurt, could not get killed and had no idea what spell it was and how to reverse it, why not test that so-called gift and put his immortality to use?

 

* * *

 

 

    Meanwhile in hell, Crowley stood in front of his huge wooden chair, his so-called throne as he was barking orders at his demons. “I don’t care if you have to lick the grass, use a metal detector or a mass spectrometer! I want to know what happened to the damn Winchester that made him so powerful!” A part of the Scotsman was nearly embarrassed that he had frozen and fled like a prey from the predator. He had been too blue-eyed, too trusting it seemed. He had scanned the perimeter for traps and there had been none. But he had not thought about checking for any kind of other presence, energy. Because it was still just Dean Winchester. That had been the mindset he had gotten into the bar with.

    “Someone must have used a spell on him, transferred some energy. Bring me what kind of creature, spell or artifact can make a stinking, normal human, gain such immense power! Now!” His demons stared at him, frozen at the anger displayed in their king’s voice. “You want me to wait till next Christmas to receive it as a present? Move before some heads roll!”

    With a frenzy, they scurried off in their black suits with white collared shirts, nearly bumping into each other as they left the throne room.

 

    Once all of his minions had left, Crowley poured himself a glass of scotch from a crystal carafe sitting not too far from his throne. The good stuff, not that stuff Bobby Singer used to drink. With that you could clean a whole motor block. Maybe Bobby had even done that, Crowley mused to himself. Taking a seat in his chair, he put the arm with the glass on the armchair, propping his elbow up. He slowly nursed the drink as he kept overthinking the whole situation. Having seen that glow, that power radiating off the Winchester, pulsing through his veins had made the little hairs in the back of his neck stand up. The only thing that would make a demon of his rank feel such terror must be something celestial. Celestial, old and more than just powerful.

 

* * *

 

 

     Three weeks have passed since Dean’s encounter with the king of hell in that bar.

    Currently he was laying on his back on the front bench of the Impala, parked on some dirt road by Green River, Utah. A town by the I-80, population 929 miserable souls, give or take. There had been blood drained bodies found in their local part of Platte river that runs by the village. Hiding the bodies had obviously been a sloppy job, since once they bloated and came up to the surface they had been stranded on the shore just a few miles down the river. Without thinking further about it, Dean knew it was vampires. Maybe young vampires, or a single one. Though there had been quite a body count of seven corpses over the last two weeks. At least so the paper in Thompson, Utah Nebraska had told him when he stopped for gas. It was not like the man needed sleep. He had driven straight for the last three days. Nothing hurt, no tiredness nothing. He had gotten used to that. But what he could not get used to was the days just swimming from one into another. A lot he felt like he had to look at his watch, or pick up papers to make out what date it was. So, time was in the end, a fluid concept. What was worse, is that he had to keep his mind constantly occupied. Usually his day had been filled with breaks for food, bathrooms and sleep. But now all these things had gone out of the window, especially sleep that gave him approximately ten more hours in the day to deal with the feelings he didn’t want to deal with. How had Cas managed to constantly keep busy or do something as an angel? Or did he just have some fast forward button? That concept seemed like sleep a lot to him. So maybe angels in the end had somewhat slept?

    Dean caught himself thinking of his best friend when a bypassing truck honked, startling him. He laid there, arms crossed over his chest. With a sigh, he sat up and reached over to turn on the radio. The cassette he had left in played an AC/DC song. He remembered clearly when Sam had told him to turn it down, but Dean had just turned it up and started to sing along, annoyingly loud. Of course, his younger brother had huffed and given him his trademark bitchface at that, muttering something about how he could not read and concentrate like that. With a press of his thumb the cassette popped out of the radio, sticking out slightly.

    Tuning the radio slightly, he picked up a local station. His reaction was a groan then as he got behind the wheel. ~I hurt myself today. To see if I still feel~ It was good old Johnny Cash coming from the speakers. And Dean knew the song, closing his eyes for a moment as he had known it would strike a chord inside him. Even if he would have turned it off, the lyrics would have naturally floated his brain. ~I focus on the pain. The only thing that’s real~ Without noticing he started to half sing along as he put the Impala into drive, rolling into Green River. The only thing he needed motels by now for were showers, but old habits died last and he booked a single room with another fake credit card before hauling his stuff in a duffel inside. Teeth were brushed, a shower was taken. The man stood naked in the room, laying out his FBI suit before slipping on fresh socks and a pair of boxer briefs. Time to go to the station, the coroners, the families and the witnesses. That should keep his mind busy for the next few hours, if not all day.

  

* * *

 

 

    Around 12 hours later, Dean found himself behind a barn, holding his machete as he used his sleeve to wipe off the blood splatter from his face. The last rays of sun had disappeared behind the horizon and night was settling over this part of the world. One vampire laid by his feet, or rather his body, his head having rolled off into a shallow hole a few feet away. The hunter didn’t bother to clean his weapon since he knew there were two more vampires hiding around this barn somewhere.

 

    They were young adults, having gone on a trip to Chicago two weeks ago. They had come back changed, thanks to a goth bar visit. Why wouldn’t people just stay away from those? Sure, the girls often wore quite some sexy outfits, and Dean usually loved himself a dark vixen. Or at least he had used to. Goths, business women, biker chicks, cute domestic princesses, oh and waitresses, he never said no. Never a man to reject any kind of beauty.

 

    His mind focused from mulling through the different types of girls he has had hookups with, when he heard slow steps coming closer, a twig cracking under a shoe. As quietly and quickly as he could, he pressed his side against the abandoned tractor by the barn, adjusting its mirror so he could see on the other side of it. But the damn rusty thing creaked and gave away his position. Suddenly he had two arms full of vampire, the young man having jumped on the tractor’s hood then down onto Dean, knocking him into the gravel ground.

    “Man, that is some nasty morning breath you got going, pal.” Of course, Dean never seemed to run out of witty lines, no matter what kind of situation he was in. The seasoned hunter struggled with the vampire due to inhumane strength and had to drop his weapon and block the other’s jaw with his hand from coming down onto his neck and biting himself a piece of good old Dean meat from his throat. The hand that wasn’t blocking the bite, grabbed on the vampire’s wrist and with a yank Dean pulled him further to the side. This kept the fighting vampire under control long enough for Dean to pull his leg up and trap the throat of the vamp under his knee to effectively wrestle him off. With a roll, he was on his feet, having grabbed the machete as he got up. A quick turn and knowing his enemy’s position, the next head thumped down before it rolled to the tractor’s back wheel.

 

    For a moment, he slumped against the farming machine’s side and took a breath, shaking his arm out a little before the hairs on the back of his neck stood and he heard a whisper to his ear: “Quite a show, but you made too much noise while killing my friends!”

 

    There was no way in hell Dean would be fast enough to get away from the impending danger as the vampire was literally breathing down his neck. Maybe he had gotten sloppy, used to having Sam or Cas with him, or simply old that he had gotten himself into this situation. The creature gave him no chance to twist and cut its head off, when his arm was blocked, other hand grabbing on Dean’s dark sandy blond hair, teeth sinking into his neck. He knew this was it, he had fucked up. But calm washed over him and the hunter even closed his eyes, welcoming his own end when the vampire didn’t drink his blood, but tore out a good chunk from his neck. Dropping onto his knees, Dean just keeled forward, face first into the dirt as the blood spilled from his artery.

 

    The shock on the vampire’s face was priceless, when mere seconds later Dean opened his eyes, staring still into the dead of the night ahead of him. Slowly he picked himself up, touching his neck. There was no wound, nothing, just the remnants of the blood he had just lost. “Damn, I liked that shirt and you just ruined it.” Picking up his machete, he wiped it on the already dirty shirt. The look of horror still hadn’t left the other male’s face. “I… I saw your skin mend and knit itself back together like… What the fuck are you dude?!” the vamp shrieked, slowly starting to back away from Dean, but stumbled over some bigger stones on the ground. Now he was pretty much crawling back on hands and feet.

    “Obviously, I am a worse monster than you. Now come on, save yourself some dignity and go out like a good vampy. You know what’s coming next.” Dean took two big steps, the third being his heavy boot that pressed the monster down by its chest. A strong swing from his machete and the head rolled into the tall grass with eyes torn wide open.

 

* * *

 

 

    For the next three months, Dean mostly stuck to hunting vampires, since he knew for sure they couldn’t kill him. Not even a torn out artery could kill him it seemed. Of course, he would pick up an easy salt and burn on the way if he got across one, but right now he was tracking a vampire nest. It seemed like the man had grown even more of a reputation among vampires.

 

    But these weren’t your run of the mill vampires. They were older, having lived among humans for centuries. They blended in easily no matter what town they went into, posing as families or couples. And the nest wasn’t exactly small. There were at least 12 of them. The way they mutilated and hid the bodies also made it hard to follow the trail of corpses.

 

    But after months, Dean knew exactly what to look for. And he knew he was getting closer. Unlike them he did not need rest, he did not need food.

    It had been two weeks since the last body dropped and they were moving east, just right under the Canadian border. He had chased them from Montana all through North Dakota and some hours ago, he just passed the border to Minnesota. The hunter knew they preferred towns close to forests and national parks, as it was easier to make their kills look like animal attacks on hikers. Or asking your neighbors to go hiking with you and end up dead. They even went that far, to hurt each other to make it believable. The man was betting his money they would show up in Littlefork. It was perfect, surrounded by national parks. And if the local police got wind of what they did, slipping over the border wouldn’t be exactly hard.

 

    Posing as a low government official he walked into city hall to check the records of people migrating and immigrating into the town after he had arrived and gotten a setup in the local motel. Checking the records which were kept in old dusty books, somewhere in the cellar, the man grunted as he found bupkis. They had not been updated since 1997.

    Still in his attire he walked into the only real estate bureau the town had. He gave them the same story, the man informing him after a while that the beginning of this week two young couples and two families had rented houses and a farm. Ding ding ding, we have a winner! At least that was what his brain translated it to.

    He knew the houses were fronts, as they preferred to stay together and hide out on farms, or in old factories. Anything with closed dark spaces. And not every house had a cellar.

    With a smile and a polite goodbye, he left the office of the grey haired, slightly overweight sweating man, whose tie seemed to sit a bit too tight as his head had been red all through the conversation.

 

    Before nightfall would come, Dean got into the Impala. Machetes, additional knives and dead man’s blood syringes had been packed. He even brought his gun, knowing it might not be of much use, but better safe than sorry.

    The hunter still had to scout the farms. Asking for addresses would have been too suspicious. There were only two local farms, as the town was more of a tourist and hunting spot.

    Pulling up close enough on the main road, to the dirt road that led to one farm, the hunter looked through his binoculars. There was a little girl playing in the front of the porch, jumping on a swing next. Her father, or what Dean assumed was her father, came out a moment later to tell her that dinner was ready. She jumped off and skipped over to the entrance a moment later. Dean knew this was not the farm he had looked for. There was no child in the vampire pack, nor would they even be awake now or go out willingly at this hour of the day. Even if that man was a prospect to be turned into a vampire, the hunger and need for blood would be too big to let the little girl live. Being on the run from him wouldn’t leave them enough time to make new vampires and teach them their admittedly smart ways.

 

    The thought of the girl being eaten disgusted him as he turned the ignition and let Baby rumble down the main road after he had checked the map. He still didn’t like those talking navigational systems. If everything failed, he had his phone, but he was more a finger on map kind of guy. The other farm was further out and he had to leave Baby behind half a mile away so the noise would not draw any attention. As much as he loved the engine’s purr, she wasn’t good for sneaking up on monster. She was more one to make a grand entrance.

    He followed the tracks in the dirt up till an old and broad tree he momentarily took cover behind. The tracks were fresh and three SUVs with tinted glasses were parked on the farm ground. Well that went together like metal music and knitting. He thought they were smart, but then again, they were vampires and he didn’t expect their run from him to be perfect and completely thought through.

    Eyes scanned the perimeter with the last rays of sunshine still present. He planned a route how to get closer to the barn as the curtains on the windows were still open. Machete in hand, ducking his head he ran over to one of the cars as quickly and stealthily as he could, about to take cover behind the next one before the back door of one opened and knocked him flat on his ass. A man with tinted ski glasses, a ski mask, completely covered in black stood over him. He could just imagine that smug smile on that face. He had to give them points for creativity, before his lights were knocked out.

 

    If only he had gone in guns blazing like he usually did. But this time Dean Winchester had thought he needed to be smart to take out twelve vampires, because it would be less of a mess.

    Those were his first thoughts when he woke up with a groan. He could feel his vision swimming a little as he opened his peridot green eyes, blinking them softly. Night had already come.

    “Oh, hello there, good morning princess.” The leader of the pack, a typical biker kind of guy greeted him. “We finally got ourselves a piece of you. What will we do with this hunter extraordinaire? I must say in the 470 years I have lived on this earth I have never come so close to being caught and killed.”

    “Yeah well wait till I get out of this chair. I’ m not as much into bondage as I might look like.” Dean spat back, giving him his best blinding smile, even if his teeth were stained with his own blood right now from the punch he had taken earlier.

    “Just shut up.” The leader snarled, turning around to the vampire family that had gathered around the hunter. “So, what do we do with him?” “Kill him!” came the answer immediately from a man younger looking than the vampire leader. He looked like nothing special, someone who would not draw any attention to himself in a crowd, or even alone. “I say we pull him onto our side. Such a skilled, resilient fighter would benefit us quite a bit.”

 

    And it seemed whatever the man decided was law. He pointed to a young woman with auburn red hair clad in tight jeans and a short top. Usually just the kind Dean would like. “I haven’t had a mate in years… But you are quite a cutie. I wouldn’t mind showing you the ropes of vampire sex.” She said as she strode over, hips swaying, even being bold enough to straddle his lap and grind a bit onto him. Dean just leaned back and looked up at her with a smirk. He was not one bit afraid and she could see that. “Oh is that so? I think I could still teach you some stuff.” The smirk never left his lips. “Now, come on sugar. Do what you gotta do. Take a bite, I don’t have all night babe.” Dean snarled, giving her a cocky look, then tilting his head to bear his strong neck to her. Without more hesitation, she took a bite and started to drink his blood before erupting in a scream and jumping off him. She held her mouth and throat, panic written all over her face before she burned up from the inside.

    Okay that was new.

 

    But the vampire leader didn’t have any of it and bit into his wrist, squeezing Dean’s jaw to open his lips rather ungracefully. He completely ignored that a member of his pack had literally just perished from existence. Now this looked like: give one take one, a lot.

     The hunter didn’t feel so sure of himself anymore now though. But if he got out of this, he still had the Campbell cure. As long as he didn’t feed. But that seemed to get taken care of immediately as well, while the vampire blood ran through his system. Vehemently, he fought the bag of AB negative that was brought to his lips, kicking and yelling as much as possible while restrained.

    “Fine. Have it your way.” And all it took was a nod, two helping hands and a drop of blood into his eye. “Feeding doesn’t only work through the mouth. Other human body parts absorb blood just as well, if not even faster.” Obviously, the biker guy was quite pleased with himself right now. “Untie him. He has no other choice now than to stay with us if he wants to survive. Or someone like him will find him and kill him, cause this stupid son of a bitch will be so hungry, he will be too dumb to cover his tracks.”

 

    Dean was unchained but he hung limply in his chain, his body seemingly at war with the poison in his system, before it convulsed and he fell forward, dropping on hands and knees, heaving. He was suddenly drenched in cold sweat and groaned in pain, before he hurled. Right in front of a vampire’s feet. The others in the barn froze.

     But it was not food, nor blood that left him. It was black as ink and splattered over the concrete floor with leftover hay on it. A few more convulsions and black liquid splatters, before Dean rose to his feet. “Now, where did you say you put my machete again?”

Background music: Johnny Cash - Hurt // Lynyrd Skynyrd - Free Bird // RUSH - Working Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Comments & Kudos are love!**
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> I really wanna know what you guys think about this story. If it's a catastrophe I'll stop writing it?


	5. A bullet for your thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is trying to find out what has happened to Dean, while latter just kills any monster in his way. He gets to know Crowley is cooking something but he can't get to him.  
> Caught in his hunting frenzy, determined, close to obsessed to get his hands on the king of hell, Claire's call kicks him completely out of the loop. With hard concequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  
>  Violence, Blood  
> Suicide Attempt  
> Language  
> Sexual Content
> 
> Yanno the usual shebang.

 

    

    Over the course of the next two weeks, Dean felt as if he had decimated the North American vampire population on his own. There wasn’t so much sneaking around anymore and making sure he wasn’t hurt, bitten or something of that sort. Sure, he still felt pain, and a bite burned and hurt like a bitch, but it would just close a few seconds later. That usually left the vampire, or vampires, staring in awe as if they had just looked at the face of God before it also was the last thing they saw. Following, that was usually the moment their heads rolled.

     

    During these two past weeks, his phone had lit up with a known number. Missouri. Dean had saved her number after the last call he had gotten from the psychic. Of course, his first question would be if everything was alright. He knew how it used to bite people, who helped the Winchesters, in the ass.

    

    “No Dean, everything is fine. I am good. But there is this dark looming presence in the town. It started a few days after you left.” She admitted to him, the sound of her spoon clinking against the side of a tea mug could be heard over the phone.

    

    “And you tell me weeks later? What if something happened to you?!” Of course, guilt was rising in his gut once more.

    

    “Boy, it’s fine. I can handle myself, even if I don’t look like much. I would be long gone, before they even could sniff me out. Also, that energy had stayed concentrated at the cemetery, so I wasn’t in danger.” At this Dean rose an eyebrow, leaning back against the side of his Baby, refueling her currently. “One day, since I couldn’t stand it any longer I drove by the cemetery… and I could see their faces.” Missouri continued, earning half a yell from Dean then.

    

    “You did what?!” the man asked in disbelief over the phone, clearly upset, looking around not to draw too much attention with his sudden outburst.

    

    “They were too busy to notice me. They were demons.” She took a pause then. “Boy, they were checking out the spot your family had died in.”

    

    And then it just clicked in his mind. It was Crowley, king of douches. “Should I come over?” Dean asked with worry in his voice.

    

     “No no.” Came the immediate answer to his question. “They have left by now, but I tell you one thing, boy: something is going on.”

 

    

    The call ended with gentle and thankful good byes before Dean went to pay for the gas. Thinking of it, while the clerk handed him his change, there had been little to no demonic omens lately. It seemed that after Crowley had run off like a chicken without its head, his demons were laying low too. And he knew Crowley was up to something, up to no good, knowing those were his goons trying to find out whatever happened. But well, if the demons wouldn’t come out on their own, maybe he should summon himself one?

 

* * *

    

    After the last few weeks Dean had realized that nothing supernatural could kill him. He was the ultimate hunter. It was times like these, he missed Bobby the most. Because in his current situation, he had to pick up cases on his own, not getting wind of anything since the Winchesters had never been the kind of family to mingle with other hunters.

    

    And so, at times it was a strain to settle and find cases. And only looking locally would be a lot of driving around without a purpose. No matter how much he loved Baby, he had spent practically all his life in that car already. Sitting in peace with nothing vibrating underneath him was nice for a change.

    

    With his laptop perched on the old kitchen table in a motel room, glass of scotch between his fingers, Dean looked at his laptop screen. It was running an internet search for demonic omens. Mass cattle deaths, storms, sudden drops in temperature; things like that. The program traced news articles, police as well as coroners reports on its own. Meanwhile Dean though it was a good idea to play some online mahjong. Yeah, he knew. No one would have taken him for the type to have a fascination with combining different little stones and picking the right ones to unstack them. The website he used usually had some not annoying ads on the side. Normally, he didn’t bother, but this time it was for an online edition of Busty Asian Beauties. When had he actually looked at that the last time?

    

    As if someone could be watching him, he looked over his shoulder and gave the typical Winchester shrug with down pulled mouth corners. And then clicked on the ad.

    

    Oh man, he had forgotten how nicely that sleek black hair could fall around those curves. And just enough to hide the nipples a bit. Not even going to mention the pink lace panties. Usually by now his loins would be on fire, an itch in his crotch. Looking down at himself, at his jeans, he was as flaccid and unfazed when imagining Crowley in a pair of holdless stockings… and nothing else. Not like he ever did that, but just for the sake of comparison.

    

    “Yeah Michael, you douchebag, I get it. Eternal damnation and shit. But seriously? Not even a boner? I mean, come on!” Dean grunted out loud as he clicked the X on top of the page, not even in the mood for mahjongg anymore. Considering what had happened with the nurse back in Lebanon, the ugly feeling that had washed over him, this wasn’t much of a surprise. Right now, the hunter felt as if Michael was looking down at him, mocking him and laughing. If he was still alive, that was.

 

    

    Caught in his own mumbling about how much he hated that celestial bag of dicks, the laptop gave off a ping! sound and Dean clicked on the results of the trace. A small town, it was always small towns, called Joy in Illinois – how fitting – has had a sudden temperature drop of over 30°F with tenacious storms sticking to the city. That information was good enough for him. That was a six-hour drive from where he was right now. And he would be able just to pull that off in one go, but he simply didn’t want to.

 

    

    No, for tonight he decided he would drink, even if he didn’t get drunk. And he would get laid. Dean really would be damned before he couldn’t get it up anymore. He wasn’t that old yet and the doctor had said he was fine. Not like they had looked around his balls in specific when examining him. For once he wasn’t covered in some sort of monster goo, so all he did was shrug on that black leather jacket he had worn in LA when they chased Lucifer as Vince Vincente, dark red shirt, jeans and his usual boots. A short check of his hair and that should do. The laptop was shut, gun hidden in his belt under his jacket before locking the door and leaving.

    

    By now he didn’t have to worry anymore about how he would get back. And he would not have to leave the Impala behind at the back of some bar, because no matter how much he indulged, he never got drunk as a skunk anymore. Not even tipsy. It was like his metabolism just burned that off and away.

 

* * *

    

    Around 20 minutes later the man found himself in the local bar on a Friday night. Good. He thought to himself as he climbed the few steps on the porch of the establishment and pushed the door open. It was loud and warm, smelled like smoke, peanuts and greasy chicken. Some things would never fail to console him. Since he was without company and didn’t want to give off the idea that he was waiting for someone, he placed his butt on a barstool, ordering a beer and a scotch for a good start. He had forgotten how loud the music could be at such places and how much noise a round of pool made. Once he had downed his whiskey, he grabbed his beer and turned a bit on the stool to lean back against the bar counter. With his knees loosely open, his jacket hanging down his sides and the shirt laying snug against his body in the right places, he presented himself, so to say. He had thrown out the hook and waited to see what took the bait now.

    

    His eyes jumped from one lady to the other, one with brown hair in jeans, a top and leather jacket, slowly bending over the pool table. He acknowledged that fine behind with a soft “hm!” and smirked. A blonde walked through his peripheral vision. It seems like she was the waitress as she carried a tray. Boots, mini skirt, fishnet stockings, low cut top and a vest. At least she tried to add some class to her outfit. Her hair was definitely bleached and brought into a half curly open hairdo. She might be wearing quite an outfit but it was obvious she was a nice small town girl. Dean had spent so many nights, no, years in bars that he wouldn’t so much look at the women but through them.

    

    He wasn’t too happy with his options yet so he kept looking. If he was lucky, his luck would come to him on its own though. It then did in form of a curvaceous, strawberry blonde. Her jeans were not as tight as the other women’s ones, her white top not as revealing but she had the face of an angel. Oh, and there his imagination went, picturing that face looking up at him with his dick in her mouth.

    

    Seemingly, she sort of thought the same because by the way she strut over, pushing her boobs out, getting between his legs, hands placing themselves on his knees. The man knew immediately, that oh she was not a child of unhappiness and boredom. By the way they were undressing each other with their eyes, no words needed to be spoken. Her hands travelled up further his legs and hips to his sides, feeling the strong muscle hidden under his shirt. Dean did nothing to hide his knowing smirk. He knew she found him irresistible and he basked in that feeling of still having that pull on women, even though he was head first going strong to 40.

    

    He was about to lean in, take a taste of those makeup-free lips before his stomach coiled suddenly and he nearly felt his scotch coming up. It was again that same gross and vile feeling he had with the nurse. And before he knew she had to turn away to sneeze, sniffling before smiling at him. “Sorry.” The young woman said rather lovely, and just judging by this word she seemed to be actually quite a sweetheart and Dean hated himself for doing this right now. Reaching up to cup her cheek he gave her a rather sad smile. “You should go home, take some meds and lay down hm?” It was more of a friendly gesture than just blowing her off. For a moment, she looked angry but then had to admit she had a cold and he only meant well. “Any other day you’re back to 100% though, darling.” For good measure, he smacked her ass as she turned to leave, earning a smirk from her. Sadly, he would never see her again.

 

    

    The moment she was out of his direct vicinity, the feeling that made him sick to his stomach stopped and he was peachy again. Golden even. Grunting he nipped on his beer, turning back to the bar. What the hell was wrong with him? Immortality usually should mean more sex in one lifetime than in ten! But here he was, a woman’s touch making him sick and his dick being lifeless. Just a hose to piss from. Awesome.

 

 

    

    Calling this night a failure after 3 more beers and 5 more shots of scotch, he paid and slowly made his way out of the bar. On his way out, the waitress stepped back to let a patron pass and bumped into him. “Oh, I am sorry!” the blonde said, hastily making sure she had not spilled something on him or so. There was a little leftover beer on his leather jacket, but that could just be wiped off. Which she did, with a rag, while holding his other hand. And suddenly he realized that there was no coiling stomach, no need to puke, nothing. Putting on his most charming smile once realization set in, he took her hand into his. “It’s okay. I don’t mind smelling a bit like beer though. But if you want to make it up to me, you could just tell me when you shift ends?” And gave her a short, but definitely lewd wink.

 

* * *

    

    He was nearly jumping down the steps of the stairs that lead from her building onto the sidewalk. He had a skip in his step as he returned to the Impala. Just because it had been a hookup didn’t mean he wouldn’t bring her to the door. Hookup or not, every woman deserved respect.

    

    Her name was Monica, and she was a student, earning some extra bucks in that bar. And tonight, he had been her subject to study.

    

    Barely three minutes out on the road with her in the passenger’s seat of the Impala and she had been hands on. Dean had wanted to take her to her place or his motel, but they had to find themselves a quiet dirt road leading into a patch of woods, because things got so steamy so quickly. The backseat of Baby had seen quite some action tonight, he mused to himself as he got behind the steering wheel. And he had made no fuss about telling her the truth, sort of. He had given her his name and that he was on the road all the time, scouting classic car parts for the company he worked for. They restored old American muscle cars. It was believable at least.

    

    The two of them had barely made it into the backseat while heatedly kissing, Monica telling him to rip her fishnets and that she had three more pairs of those. And so, he did. And her blue eyes looked just as enticing as the strawberry blonde’s green ones, with his cock between her lips.

    

    The first round had been rather quick and a little messy. But it wouldn’t stay at that. Once they had recuperated and peeled each other out of all their layers of clothing, Dean immediately got a face full of firm boobs. She rode him hard enough on the backseat that night to make the rear shock absorbers of the Impala creak. Who had known that she would be such a firecracker?

 

    

    Tonight, he let himself drift off into sleep, knowing well enough, that the ugly face of the next morning would definitely come.

 

* * *

   

    “Tell me what the hell Crowley is up to!” Dean snarled at the demon he had pushed towards the wall, demon blade at its throat. It was a man of color, short afro hairdo on his head, clad completely in black. Dean had caught him promising local women to give them witch powers in return for their souls. But instead of holding his end of the bargain, he did everything in his power, used every loophole, to harvest the souls quickly. A rogue demon, you might say. Crowley was a bastard, but Dean knew that he and his demons usually played by the rules.

    

    While Dean was demanding an answer, the demon just grinned at him, sending him flying across the room with a flick of his wrist. Dean had to give it to the dude, he had avoided the trap drawn under the carpet in one of the victim’s houses quite well. With a grunt, Dean slowly picked himself up into a sitting position, grinning.

    

    “What’s there to grin at, handsome?” The demon asked, strutting over, ready to pin him down again. “Are you looking forward to having your guts torn out of your body?” By now, Dean was laughing loudly, the demon looking at him in disbelief.

    

    “A: I don’t play for your team, so don’t call me handsome. B: I don’t play for your team, so don’t call me handsome. C: you are a stupid son of a bitch. You know who I am. I am the last living Winchester, and you would be wiser not to fuck with me.” That little speech had the demon pale slightly, which showed Dean he knew what Crowley was doing. He must have heard his name before. Pulling out his gun from behind his belt, Dean pointed it at the demon, smirking.

    

    “If you really think that thing can do more than tickle me, you are dumber than they say. Some great hunter you are.” But without further ado, Dean pulled the trigger, smirking at the demon when he tried to pin him again with his power. But the pinning failed and so the Winchester slowly got up, dusting off his clothes.

    

    “What did you do to me?!” the creature from hell shrieked, not being able to move one bit.

    

    “Well I used to be a Men of Letters legacy. And I picked up some tricks on the way, even from my grandfather.” With a click the clip slid out of his Colt 1911 and he picked out a bullet, showing it to the demon. It was carved with a demon’s trap, just like Henry had showed him how to do. “Seems like we are clear now on who is the stupid and poor son of a bitch here.” He took a pause, turning the demon blade he had picked back up in his hand to examine it, then continuing to speak. “You have greatly underestimated me, knowing fully who I am. No matter what has been going on with me lately, I still outsmart you, you filthy black eyed scum.” Putting the gun back behind his belt, he walked over to the demon, getting right into his face. “So, where was I? Ah, yes, right. What is Crowley up to? And I do not like to repeat myself.” His gaze was arrogant as he carried a smirk on his face once more, tip of the blade scratching slightly at the demon’s cheek. “You either tell me or I will give you some plastic surgery with a blunt blade. I will carve you a new face, the way I like it, without any anesthesia. So talk.”

 

* * *

    

    Bored, Crowley sat in his throne, one leg hanging untypically leisurely over the armrest. This particular bottle of single malt scotch was a good year and he enjoyed it thoroughly when there was a knock on the heavy wooden doors, before two demons slipped into the room.

    

    “Sir…” one of them started, already making Crowley sigh and roll his eyes. “Can a king never get some me-time around here?” He then moved to sit properly, leaning back in his chair, still nursing that scotch. “Spit it out. I don’t have all eternity.” His attitude seemingly would never change.

    

    “Sir, our investigation of Stull Cemetery is done.”

    

    “About bloody time!” his infernal majesty snarled. “So?”

    

    “It seems like after using thermal imaging, spectral analysis-“ and then Crowley cut in: “Really, all I hear is bla, bla, bla.” And moved his hand fitting the words, as if it was a mouth talking. “Let me guess, you found a big pile of nothing.” His brows furrowed and his fingers were about to snap the two goons into dust.

    

    “Sir, please. Actually, we found something!” Now the two demons were nearly climbing over each other, trying to tell him the news and not get turned into a pile of demon dust.

    

    “You, quick, give me the skinny.” He pointed to the one of the left, who suddenly straightened out, arms pressed tightly to his sides, palms flat against the sides of his thighs. “Sir! We, uhm.” Crowley was taking a deep breath, raising his hand again to make himself some more demon dust. “It was a spell!” The demon in question spilled quickly. “The whole place is pulsing with leftover celestial energy, grace all over the place. The blood in the grass is actually a pattern, and whatever has happened there was a very mighty spell. Close to God level of spell. Here is a drawing of the symbol in the grass at the cemetery.” He quickly handed over a paper, which Crowley took and examined. “We could not find out what spell it is y-“ With a snap of his fingers the demon turned into a cloud of nothing.

    

    “You, blondie.” He pointed to the other demon holding out the paper to him. “Find out what it was. Pronto. And don’t tease me as much as the other one did. I am the kind of guy who needs instant satisfaction. And that at best, already yesterday. Oh, and whatever you guys do, stay the hell away from the Winchester.”

 

* * *

   

    Four hours later, of which three had consisted of muffled demon screams, Dean was digging a shallow grave in the woods. He had rolled up the demon in the carpet he had painted that devil’s trap on from the underside, and hauled him into the trunk of the Impala. The car was parked not too far away as the hunter kept digging. Usually this would take longer, make him moan and groan in annoyance and strain. But right now, he was not one bit tired, nor did he even break a sweat.

    

    Another 20 minutes later he leaned on his shovel and watched the body burn, taking a sip out of a bottle of scotch he had brought along with him. He was just taking a swing when his phone rang. Caller ID said: Claire.

    

    And that was the moment Dean swallowed hard and not only the burning liquid that slid down the inside of his throat. In that moment, it all crashed into him again, a jackhammer to the gut. He had been so in his hunting frenzy, having it all pushed down and locked away, that now when it was coming back with a vengeance, the man knew he would have a very hard time not to let it all bubble up and out.

    

    “Dean?” Claire’s voice was soft, insecure. So much the opposite of her usual tone.

    

    “Yeah, what’s up, Claire?” Just trying to get those few words out had been a strain. His voice was about to betray him and crack.

    

    “I… Is Cas okay?” Even though Cas was not her father and only wore his skin, he had become somewhat of a father figure. Helping her when he could like a father would, no matter if it was mathematics or insight on a situation from his perspective. Even if his perspective could be categorized as unusual a lot of the time.

    

    There was silence from Dean’s side. He had closed his eyes, flashes of memories crashing into him like a tidal wave. He felt his breath hitch and that lump form in his throat when his eyes began to burn. The wrongly tied tie, the layers of clothes in hot summer, those endless blue eyes that seemed to look right through his skin, right into his core, seeing him for who he really was. Even though how Dean saw himself and how Castiel had seen him, had been worlds apart. Had seen. Past Perfect, since Cas was no more, any longer…

 

    

    “Dean?” came her voice over the phone again and he cleared his throat, setting his jaw and staring out into the woods, just to pretend for himself that he was okay. Just to focus on goddamn anything, something.

    

    “Usually when I prayed to him and I had a problem, he would show up when he could. Even if it was just a stupid math equation. When I called his phone, I was told the number is out of service.” He could picture the vibration of her voice, the quivering of her lips, the impending question hanging in the air. “Is he… Is he okay? It’s been weeks.”

    

    And all the hunter could do then was sigh. His eyes closed again and he shook his head, as if she could see him.

    

    “No, Claire. He is not okay.”

 

* * *

    

    “Shit, shit, shit!” Dean yelled as he slammed his hands against the steering wheel of the Impala, regretting it immediately since it was his Baby after all. “Fuck all of this!” He was practically yelling, screaming from the top of his lungs. “Michael, you piece of shit!” He yelled again, the sound on the outside muffled by the glass and steel of the car. “Why not just take me?! Why not just fucking kill me?! I am so tired of this life!” In a quieter, meeker voice he added: “I am so tired of failing everyone…”

 

    

    Bottom line was, he was tired. It was all in his mind again.

    

    Having ignored it, pushed it down with killing and drinking and even a woman was nice, but realization set in again: they were dead. And not coming back.

    

    The man was mentally exhausted. That short phone call having given him a swift kick to the ass and right now he was just staring ahead of himself out of the windshield.

 

    

    The demon had said something about only the ones close, upper management knew what Crowley was cooking. But all Dean thought about right now, was going up to Whitefish, Montana. It was Rufus’ old cabin. The one Bobby, Sam and him had hidden out at so often. The one with the old TV, on which he had watched Mexican telenovelas while his broken leg healed. It might be his last place of refuge and make him feel less like a sore thumb sticking out. There in the woods in the dirt, he thought he might even belong.

    

    And picking up a demon at a crossroads on the way wouldn’t be that hard, would it?

 

* * *

    

    Only problem was, no demon would deal. None would even show up after the first one. Dean had thought he was smart, using a photo of a deceased in the tin box he buried in the middle of the crossroads. The hunter tried to conceal that it was him. But the moment the red eyed demon – why did the women always wear little black dresses? – had spotted him, staying away far from his trap, she had poofed into thin air once more. This even happened when he made it evident it was him, asking for a deal. 300 miles further away, he had tried it once more. Nothing, no one, jackshit showed up then. Shouldn’t Crowley lick his fingers, hunger after his soul to pull him into hell and torture him for the rest of time? Or even turn him into one of his best demons at his side? But it wasn’t like the life he was leading right now, was very far from that scenario.

 

    

    With no more ideas, and not going to use another person as bait, he drove the rest up to the cabin to Whitefish.

    

    Since Claire’s call, life had become dull and gray again. The corners of his vision getting darker again with the weight that lasted upon him. Even if he seemed invincible, he had never felt this heavy, this exhausted.

 

    

    Once he had picked up a few necessities, he let himself into the cabin. It was dusty and sparsely furnished but it would do. Having a place to stay, a base of operations again so to speak, Dean had hoped it would lift his spirits a little. But it didn’t. It only made him miss the old grouchy man and his shaggy haired younger brother even more. Never had he thought that he would miss the smell of books, gunpowder, motor oil and Old Spice, ever. Or that stupid expensive shampoo Sam had used.

 

    

    The air in the cabin seemed to get too little and the walls started closing in on the man, figuratively. “Oh god, ooooh my god!” Dean let out, hunching over in front of the cabin, hands on his knees to keep himself upright somehow.

    

    There was an old chair under the window by the door. That the small porch even held his weight was surprising. Taking a seat, he looked out at the serene view in front of him. Woods, a little clearing, further off: a lake. It was a perfect retreat. It would be the perfect place to die.

 

    

    And right now, he felt crushed. He felt useless and like a failure. He saved so many people in his life, but he could never save those he loved, those closest to him who had put their own lives so often on the line for him. Bobby had stabbed himself once to keep Dean safe, nearly dying. Sam had wanted to shut hell by sacrificing himself, so Dean could lead a normal life. Kevin had died helping them, as had Charlie. So had Pam, Jo, Ellen and Ash. Even his own mother had died again. All of them were dead because they had gone onto this damn hunt, this wild goose chase. And now he even broke Claire’s heart, because he had not been able to protect what she had left of a father. Yes, it had been Dean’s job to protect them all. And he did not care if Sam was bigger than him, if everyone had known what they got themselves into and that Castiel was a freaking angel of the lord. They all deserved and needed his protection. And every single time, he had let them down. If his father could see him right now, he would be disgusted with him. He would tell him this was not the son he had raised. This was not the soldier he had trained.

 

    

    With a sad smile, a silent tear rolled down Dean’s left cheek. Who was left there for him to keep saving the world? Not to let it all burn to the ground. Wouldn’t it just keep spinning without him here? Wasn’t there anyone out there, capable enough to pick up his slack? Should he still care if this goddamn planet went to hell, if some angel or demon roasted it and all its souls? Had he not given enough, had he not died and lived enough for this, over and over again?

    

    Was he not enough?

 

    

    He knew he was being a coward right now. Right now, in the moment when the cold metal of the barrel of his gun got pressed under his chin by his own hand. Never before had he been this lonely, this miserable. His lips quivered as more silent tears were on the rim of his eyes, in danger of falling. He was a shadow of what he had used to be. He was a joke of a man at this point.

    

    His finger slowly slipped from besides the trigger onto it, tightly curling around the cold hard metal. The silver of the barrel glistened in the slim ray of sun that came down through the clouds. He did not care if any monster couldn’t kill him, if he had been given immortality.

    

    He was a Winchester. He would make his own fate, and if so he would die by his own hand.

 

    

    BANG.

 

Background music: Warrant - Cherry pie // Queen - Who wants to live forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so far the hardest chapter for me to write. Getting from hunting to the end, and finding the right trigger to follow a logic was pretty hard. 
> 
> Please leave LOVE in the form of **kudos & comments**. They keep me going.  
> No idea when the next chapter will be up. Might be a few days. Please be patient with me :D


	6. Sweet Home Sioux Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets an unexpected call from Jody to help out with Claire, who is out for blood; for revenge.  
> Meanwhile Crowley keeps plotting against the Winchester, ending up with calling his mother to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves. Sorry this took a while. Life sucks yanno.
> 
> Betaed by the lovely The_Scheming_Turtle. Arts n stuff as always by me.
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> Blood n gore  
> Language  
> Violence
> 
> So the usual stuff.

    At first there was only a groan, his body still lifeless. He could feel his hands moving on a wooden surface a moment later, coming up besides his head. Dean then managed to open one eye a little, squinting as the sun was shining brightly. What was that hellish ringing he kept hearing? With a grunt, he managed to sit up, leaning back against the wall behind himself. Huh, still at Rufus’ cabin? Not only hearing the ringing, but also feeling the vibration now, he reached into one of his pants’ pockets.

    “Yeah?”, the man asked hoarsely. “Who is this?” he asked, since he had not bothered to look at the caller ID.

    “Dean? This is Jody Mills.” Came her usual voice over the phone, nearly sounding scolding. Meanwhile Dean rubbed his hand over his face, feeling like he had a bad tequila hangover.

    “I have been calling you for three days now.” Now she sounded slightly pissed, which just earned her a groan from his side.

    “Well, things got a little messy.” Dean answered, sort of half-assed, not wanting to tell her he had tried to commit suicide and failed.

    “That is no excuse for not pick—“ But he cut in then. “Can’t a man die in peace?!” He was still on the edge, pissed it did not work out, pissed Michael really did have this grip on him. He was really damned to walk this earth till the end of time.

    She was quiet for a moment, probably having realized he may or may not be joking really. “I called you because I can barely keep Claire from running out into the world, picking up hunting. We both know she will get herself killed at this rate… I already have lost a child. I don’t want to lose another one.”

    Dean absolutely understood Jody’s worry and slowly picked himself up from the ground. He felt like hell. As much as he hated being achy right now, at least he felt something.

    “What did she say?” the man then asked, stretching his bones a little, turning to actually see the evidence of what he had done. There was blood all over the floor and a part of the wall of the house. Even on the outside of the window.

    “She said something about wanting to kill what killed Cas, kill all those, I quote: feathery bastards.” That sounded pretty much out of the Winchester playbook.

    “What do you want me to do?” Well what could he do? He knew that thirst for revenge, but he also knew that once you got it, it didn’t change anything. You would keep on walking around with that hole in your chest. There was no proper way to fill it up. All you could do was make peace with it.

    “I don’t know… Can you come down here? Talk to her, maybe scare her out of it or something? The only reason she’s still here, was ‘cause I told her you were coming.” That pretty much sealed the deal for Dean. He would have to take the drive to Sioux Falls.

    “I don’t know how much there is that I can do. But tell her, that what killed Cas is already dead. I killed it with my own hands. Gimme like,… seven hours and I will be down.” He was still not really able to move as he kept on looking at his own blood.

    “Okay, imma have dinner ready till you’re over. Sounds good?” Jody offered then.

    “Yeah sounds fantastic.” The hunter answered, about to hang up.

    “And Dean? Be safe and don’t do anything stupid again.” It was as if she knew that he had not been joking. But who was he to say no to her? Jody had helped them out and housed them so many times.

    “Always, Sheriff Mills. I’ll get myself a shower and will get in the car.” That was all before he hung up, the hand with his phone falling limp to his side. How in God’s name had he survived this? The bullet had actually killed him instantly, but how did he come back from it? That and he had some freaky kind of dream while he was out. A dream about staring at himself dead, his brains and blood splattered all over the place, before his eyes suddenly shone in a silvery light for a moment and his body started mending again. Seems like this kind of wound took three days to mend. And slowly he was beginning to have a suspicion about what Michael had done to him, but was it even possible? It shouldn’t be.

 

* * *

 

 

    It was around late afternoon when the man arrived, parking his car by the sidewalk in front of Jody’s house. He didn’t really take anything with him as he walked up to the door and knocked. He was let in promptly by Jody who smiled at first, before her face fell as Claire was causing some sort of ruckus and yelling inside her room again.

    “It’s been like this for days. It’s like she does everything for me to kick her out and not keep her here. I have no reasons I can give her anymore to make her stay.” Jody said with a sigh as she let the hunter in. Dean was barely shrugging off his jacket before Claire emerged from her room.

    “Finally. I thought she would keep me locked up in here forever. When are we going hunting?” Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

    As expected, dinner was an awkward ordeal with none of the participants really talking. The ticking of the clock on the wall was becoming unnerving as Dean ate his last piece of chicken. Full and content, he put down his cutlery, flushing the food down with a beer Jody had handed him earlier.

    “Nothing beats your cooking Jody. I forgot when I had a proper homecooked meal the last time. Seems like my mother even couldn’t cook.” Dean admitted then, his mind travelling back to the fact that he had idolized that woman, the meals she had made. It pretty much had been a lie. She couldn’t cook.

    It was obvious by how Claire pushed around some peas on her plate that she was neither happy nor patient. She was antsy and restless. “So are we going to go gank whatever killed Cas or not?” the blonde girl blurted out short moments later.

    “Claire Novak!” Jody scolded, half yelling. “That man has just driven seven hours to get here and nobody ever said you were going to go hunting! That is not what I am paying your tuition for!” Jody Mills, tiger mom at her best, was all Dean thought, before sighing. He put his elbows on the table now that everyone had eaten, chin resting on his fists.

    “You know Claire,” Dean started calmly, pausing. “We were hunting the devil and the archangel Michael, who you might know are actually brothers. Since that little hellspawn Lucifer had created himself, calling him his son,” yes, he was speaking of the Nephilim. “freed him from hell, and daddy wanting to roast like half the planet and Apocalypse 2.0 starting, we had to stop them. I don’t want to call them collateral damage, since all of them were my family. You lost the last thing, the last person that reminded you of your father. I know it sucks, trust me, I more than anyone do know how much it sucks. But I had the blood of Cas, my brother and my mother rain down on me while getting this close” he showed her with index finger and thumb “to getting ganked by Michael because I killed Lucifer.”

    For a moment, both women froze since Dean had never told Jody that he had also lost his brother and mother in that fight. Jody’s first urge was to hug the man close and whisper all those apologies and words of love she could find in herself. But Dean carried on, he kept talking.

    “I hate to break it to you, but I killed the one that killed Cas. I iced Michael. And it did some freaky shit to me.” He sighed for a moment, shaking his head. “I know you yearn, you hunger for revenge, but girl trust me when I say: nothing, not even revenge, no matter how long you have chased after it, can fill that deep dark hole that is inside you now. Fill it with the love you get from Alex and Jody instead, but don’t go on this crucible. Cause that is what it is. That is what my life has been and you saw where it got me. A crucible with the false promise of something you can never achieve. No matter if it’s absolution or filling that void that has been torn into you.” He paused for a longer while, before sighing and continuing to talk. “I believe that everyone makes their own fate. And if you wanted to hunt, okay. But you would do this out bloodthirst and it would eat you up. And I know for a fact you might know all the lore, but have you ever faced a ghost? Or a vampire? This close to ripping you into shreds, tearing your neck out?”

    A part of Claire wanted to yell at Dean for taking it from her, making her feel little and insignificant, a rookie. But another part was grateful. Judging by the quivering of her bottom lip and how her eyes glazed over with tears, it was a turmoil of emotions. A raging storm inside of her. After a moment, she stood up from the table wordlessly, pushing her chair back with her legs, letting the legs of it scrape over the wooden floor before practically fleeing to her room.

    “Well, that went well.” Dean commented with raised eyebrows and a sigh before taking another swing of his beer.

    Jody looked over at the man then, sighing as well. “She’s gonna come around.” A pause. “So, are you staying the night? I’d rather have you here, to be honest, while she is in this state.” For that she got a nod from him as if he said sure, no problem. “And Dean… I can’t come up with the right words to tell you how sorry I am. About your family about just… everything. That you have to lead this kind of life.”

    The thing was at some point, he had chosen this because he thought he didn’t deserve any better. That this was the task God had picked out for him to fulfill during his lifetime. And seemingly, he had been right, because he and his brother were supposed to be the firewall between good and evil.

    He did not answer with anything towards the verbal affections of Jody, besides: “I wash, you dry the dishes?”

 

* * *

 

 

    For now, he stayed on the couch with a proper pillow and blanket to sleep with. And every morning he folded it neatly back together, ready to leave when Jody would kick him out. He knew the difference by now between being at home and being a guest, considering the bunker had been the first time he had a home. He had lived there for long enough, but now couldn’t anymore.

     At least here there was something to do. The sink needed repairing, the lawn had to be mowed. All the things a man usually did in the household. Maybe that was another reason why Jody told him to stay longer. Not only the suspicion she had about Claire pulling some kind of stunt. Dean even took over the cooking duties, as Claire did not cook and holed up in her room nearly all day long, besides food and bathroom breaks and Jody was working at the sheriff’s station. It was semester break, which was the reason why Claire was at home. Alex had gone on some sort of camping trip with some friends from college. Dean would lie if he said he wasn’t a little worried. He knew what could lay hidden in seemingly safe woods.

    It occurred to him then, that again he was playing mother hen, just how he had with Sam his entire life. But it gave him something to do, something to care and nourish instead of just giving into the feeling of having to go out there and free the world of all evil; instead of giving into the need for destruction. It was the only thing he knew how to do, even if he didn’t really have the motivation to do so anymore. It was as if it was written into his DNA, running through his veins; the itch he would get at times. Blame it on growing up on the road in this business. In hindsight, even the mark of Cain had been more fun if it came to this. The itch was more prominent, but he had no feelings of guilt, no conscience if it came to killing. But now it just felt like his job, not something he had to do or else he would lose the last bits of sanity, even if it had been demonic sanity, he had left. There was no doubt in his mind, that deep inside him he simply was a killer. But even this killer had put his blade down for now.

     It started after the first three nights, that Dean found Claire sneaking around the house. His hearing was so trained, he would notice immediately when someone even just went for a nightly bathroom break. And each time he had just said her name and made her turn back around, shortly before exploding right into his face and picking a fight. He could live with this even when she muttered something about not needing a babysitter, or feeling like in a prison and that he was her warden.

    For a while Dean thought she had laid it off. Until a week later, when he had fallen asleep to the sound of the TV, then turned it off and rolled over on the couch; he heard her footsteps again. But this time she carried a bag and she rustled with his jacket.

    “Looking for this?”, the man asked, pointing his Colt M1911 at her, safety still on. Old habits die hard and he always kept his gun and knife under his pillow.

    “I was just looking for…” She quickly searched her mind for a fitting lie, but it took one to spot one and Dean knew she was tripping right now. “For your car keys!” Claire quickly lied, her heart beating in her ears as she clung on her bag harder.

    “And what do you need my car for, even though I wouldn’t let you drive her anyway.”

    At that statement the girl snorted. How could a dude refer to his car as a her? Obviously, Dean could as he sat up and turned on the lamp by the couch.

    “I am meeting a boy.” Another lie she pulled out of her sleeve quickly, Dean meanwhile glancing at his watch.

    “At 1:52am in the morning? You know Claire, I’m a professional liar and I can smell from over here that you, young lady, are lying your ass off. And the knife sticking out of your bag gives you away even more.” She knew she was busted in that moment.

    But this time he would not send her back to bed, because he was fed up with being woken by her feeble attempts to sneak out. Ever heard about something called a window?

    Getting up, walking over, Dean practically tore the bag off her arm, opening it and half emptying the contents on the couch. A case file, rock salt, lighter, lighter fluid, a small shovel.

    “You’re missing something made out of iron.” The hunter stated flatly, sitting down as he pulled on his boots, Claire looking at him in disbelief. “Salt and burn, right? You never were out in the field, were you?”

    Five minutes later, after he had gripped her by her arm, yanked her outside and shoved her into the Impala, they were on the road, heading to the next town besides Sioux Falls. If you can’t talk ‘em out of it, let them experience it. It was like catching your kid smoking, making them smoke so much they threw up and never touched that stuff again. And either she would be able to stand her ground or she would chicken out and cry. And as cruel as it might sound, he hoped for the last.

 

    Five banged up hours later, Dean stood on the graveyard watching Claire dig out the grave. If she wanted a hunter’s life she would get the full experience, the whole joyride. Also, it meant digging up a grave on your own at the ass crack of dawn, trying not to get arrested.

    Claire was shaken and drenched in sweat. Her hands trembled from the exertion, but not only.

    As they had driven by the house the deceased girl had lived in with her family, they could see the lights flickering from the outside and the EMF went crazy, even on the other side of the street. With no other solution, Dean dragged Claire along as he charged into the house. He held a sawed-off shotgun, loaded with rock salt shells, while Claire clung onto the crowbar.

    From what he had made Claire read out of her file, checking the level of research she had done, the woman laying frightened on the floor by the fireplace was the girl’s mother. And her own daughter’s ghost was coming after her. Great mother she must have been as the girl had only died three years ago. Usually it took a spirit longer to go vengeful, crazy, lonely. Unless that young adult must have been quite pissed at her mom.

    The moment the ghost charged at Claire she had frozen, clutching the iron crowbar to her chest. And if Dean had not blasted that thing so full of rock salt that it would crap margaritas for a week (courtesy of Bobby Singer’s vocabulary), it would have hurt and flung the girl across the room. In the end, until they had found what kept the spirit tied to the house, namely baby teeth (who kept those?!), they had gotten pushed into walls, furniture moving towards them or trapping them. Dean dug through the mother’s drawer until he found the box with the teeth and burned them thanks to the lighter fluid. Momentarily, the house calmed down, for now.

    But for good measure, to finish the job, he let Claire dig out the grave to burn the bones. It took quite a while but he made no fuss of helping her in any way. He even let her burn the bones and put the soil back on top of the grave.

    He knew she was trying to hold her sobs in, scared for dear life when they were back on the road to Sioux Falls. And the moment they got through the door, dirty and banged up, Jody stood in the living room in her pajamas. Her first urge was to yell the living crap out of Dean but Claire darted off towards her and hugged her, starting to sob.

    For a moment, Jody was so taken aback, she just gave a questioning look to Dean.

    “She wanted to hunt all the time, trying to sneak out, so I took her hunting. Seems like that itch has been scratched, forever.” The man stated as he got out of his boots and jacket, checking himself for real injuries.

    It took a few moments for Claire to calm down and then she just looked at Dean, lost. Sighing the man crossed his arms, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet but it had to be done. Do a little bad to do more good, right?

    “Do you know why I took you on this salt and burn?” he asked, voice pretty flat, not letting his annoyance shine through. “Do you remember when you froze when the ghost of the girl charged at you? I have dealt with that life since I was four years old, actively took part in hunts 12 years later with 16. And I puked and I was scared shitless and my dad kept pushing me for our revenge. To avenge my mother who burned on a goddamn ceiling in my baby brother’s nursery.” He could not conceal his anger, his annoyance anymore at those thoughts and the girl’s previous behavior. “Do you really want that life? Never having a real home, facing all those evil sons of bitches? Putting your life on the line every damn day, your whole life long when you have Jody and Alex,” he paused for a moment, a soft grunt escaping him. “And college, a loving family, a home and not some crazy witch hunt you keep chasing after?” He yelled practically by now, his own emotions, his pain, his grief coming through then.

    But Claire’s reaction made him stop, stop dead in his tracks. He was like a fish without water as his mouth closed and opened but no sound came out, when the girl had run over and hugged him. She was practically squeezing him. It dawned on him that she did not only hug him to apologize, but also to console him.

    It was all it took to make him soften again. That and her crying into his flannel. After a beat, he pulled his strong arms around her, even leaned down to kiss her hair. “I’m sorry, okay? I miss Cas too… Every day.”

 

    It was after Claire had calmed down and retreated to bed for the night, that Dean showered and went back to his makeshift bed for a few more hours of sleep. Jody approached him then and he looked up at her, upside down as she stood over him. “Well that seems to have been taken care of.” Dean was about to offer that he take his leave after a little more rest. Even if he did not need sleep, he liked it. Made the days blur less together and made him look less like a freak here. The dreams were a whole other story though.

    “But since you are staying” Jody said matter-of-factly, making the hunter frown slightly in disbelief. “Might as well make yourself useful.” And tossed a badge on his chest softly. “Welcome to law enforcement, Deputy Winchester. You start tomorrow. 7am sharp.”

 

* * *

 

 

    Who would have thought, that he, Dean Winchester, who involuntarily usually stood on the other side of the law was a deputy right now? When he just thought of it, that Eric Clapton (originally Bob Marley) song played in his head. Yes, the one about having shot the sheriff but not the deputy. Not that he would ever think of blasting Jody full of led, God forbid.

    The same day he had gotten the badge, he had gone to the station, simply to get his working clothes. He didn’t really know if the sandy and brown colored attire fit him, but to pull a joke he had turned to Jody once he had changed. “Do these bring out my eye color more?” At which she had just snorted and shook his head.

    Of course, Jody had tweaked some things, giving him a bit of a background or otherwise he would have to go into training. His story seemed to be that he had been a deputy, then shipped off as an army ranger to three tours to Afghanistan and six to Iraq and had come back a while ago. Hence, why he would be out of the loop.

    At first, he drove around with another deputy, learning the ropes of the job for weeks, before even getting a gun or a patrol car of his own. No way he would use baby for this, but he did miss her. No more driving down the highways with her in the close future.

    For now, he had settled. But he could not live on Jody’s couch forever. And no matter how often he had offered to stay at a motel she didn’t let him. If he moved out, not like he really had moved in though, she wanted him to have a proper home. An apartment or house. Until then, couch it was.

 

    Life like this was comfortable and for a while he forgot about the horrors he had seen. The pain became less but it never faded away completely. It just got more bearable. Jody’s presence, and occasionally Alex’s and Claire’s made it more bearable. It was as if he had wormed himself into that little patchwork family without wanting to. Even a regular job and colleagues helped.

    A meek part inside him was more than grateful to the sheriff. And Jody knew what she was doing when she got Dean that job. She knew he was righteous. She knew he was one of the best men she had ever met in her entire life. Besides the fact, that she knew he knew exactly how to use a gun, a car and handle a bad guy.

    And he was good at his job. Damn good. Simply because he could outrun any suspect, because he was fearless and because he was stronger than his colleagues.

 

    After a few months, after New Year’s, Dean was as passionate about this job, like about his old one. Not like he had stopped hunting all together. If he left at night to a close by town for a witch, a vampire or ghost, Jody usually cut him some slack in the morning. She was his boss after all.

 

    Winter turned to spring, spring to summer. And summer was now nearing its end while Dean was on patrol. South Dakota was pretty nice in September, he thought to himself as he sat in his patrol car, which he kept as neat and clean as his baby. He was going around some old back roads around Sioux Falls to make sure no one was doing anything shady. He knew people here liked to make their own moonshine, or kids liked to get drunk in the woods or throw wild parties there.

     It was as if he had been drawn to it though, realizing where he was when he passed it. Singer Salvage Yard. And he couldn’t help but pull into it.

 

    It seemed like no one had taken care of it. The car parts were still there, just partially burned and flung all over the place. The barn slash garage was mostly intact, but the house was in ruins after it had burnt down. At least all the termites would be gone now?

    Dean walked carefully around the leftovers of the wooden walls and steps. The fundament and cellar seemed to be intact. Hell, the panic room barely had a scratch. And then quite a crazy idea shot through his mind. Jody wanted him to find a real home? He would build himself one. Or rather rebuild it as this place had always been home away from home.

 

* * *

 

 

    It was an understatement to say that Crowley was less than patient by now. It had been bloody months since he had handed that paper with the symbols of the spell to that demon.

    Strolling through the long winding corridors of his home, which was something between a medieval castle and an old rundown factory building, his feet carried him into a certain direction.

    Good, no demons chatting in the hallways meant everyone was working like little busy bees, how they were supposed to. He took a corner nonchalantly, before spotting three of his minions chatting. As the king of hell came into sight they dispersed, nearly turned into thin air. With a smug smile at the effect he had on his lackeys he kept on strolling, before pushing a heavy door open. The room was something like an open plan office and he could see the demons’ heads figuratively smoking.

    “Well, ladies and gentlemen…” the king started in a soft tone, everyone dropping whatever they were doing to look up at him. “It has been bloody months!” and by now Crowley was practically yelling. “Months since you gave me anything on that spell that was used on the Winchester! And what have you come up with so far? Big pile o’ nothing! Why do I even keep you around if I could have gotten this far on my own in a bloody week!” His face was starting to get red with anger, the black suited demonic workers frozen in their seats. His fingers lifted to do that demon turns to dust-snap, when one demon stood up and softly called out. This time it was an Asian female. “Sir?”

    “What now again? Just when I am getting to the juicy parts.” Crowley rolled his eyes in annoyance. Push always had to come to shove down here to get results. Lazy ass black eyes good for nothings.

    “We actually have deciphered some of the symbols that were drawn. And so far, it seems like it isn’t a spell, or a curse, but a blessing. It comes with nooks and crannies, but it is probably older than earth itself. It is white magic and calls on the help of many big and known entities.” A blessing? Those usually were a tough job to undo.

    “And how do we reverse it?” Crowley never got enough. He was never satisfied with half done products.

    “It seems, since this blessing is so powerful, pure and old, there is nothing to counter it we know of. We have searched all continents for scrolls by now, sir. The last resort we have…”

    And then Crowley cut in: “Is the damn Book of the Damned.”

    The demon was quiet, nothing else to say, standing there as if she awaited orders. Crowley mimicked her expressionless, and to him dumb facial expression before going back to an angry frown.

    “Then what the hell are you waiting for?! Get me that damn book! Last I knew the Winchesters hid it in their bloody bat cave!” His voice boomed through the whole room, the demons starting to skitter off before one stopped, turned and looked at his boss.

    “But… We don’t know where the bunker is. We can never find it.”

    “Then try harder! Even my mother knew how to make out where it is. You Sulphur monkeys should be able to do so too, if you combine all your brain capacity!”

    And with that Crowley left, sighing deeply. He knew what awaited him. A mop of red curly manipulative and ancient hair. Picking his phone from his coat pocket he dialed a known number.

    “Mother.” He spoke into the phone, tone flat. “Fancy a chat and some tea? With milk and a little honey, how we both like it?”

 

Background music: Lynyrd Skynyrd - Simple man // Eric Clapton - I shot the sheriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kudos & Comments** are love n keep the plot bunnies running. 
> 
> Seems like this fic will have around 15 chapters. So we are close to half. There will be a grand resurrection soon, but don't hold ya breath :D  
> I hope you are enjoying your read so far. If there are plot holes, questions or any ideas you have for this story, I am open to them :D Same with criticism.
> 
> P.S. I am ROCKTAPES on tumblr ^-^ if you want to follow or get updated or so.


	7. Nothing lasts forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean builds himself a home and settles for a life. He hangs up his blade. Meanwhile Crowley recruits his mother for his purposes. She performs the spell to rob the Winchester of his blessing. Something does happen to Dean, but has Rowena succeeded?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a new chapter for your reading pleasure! Please enjoy.  
> Man it was so hard to write Crowley and Rowena for more than two pages. Unlike them, Dean just flows.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  
>  Blood & Gore  
> Language (Tsk, Tsk, DEAN!)
> 
> Betaed by the lovely and always supportive [The_Scheming_Turtle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Scheming_Turtle/profile)  
> ( ~~one day I will learn how to link usernames here~~ I DID IT :D )

    Seven years have passed since the day Jody threw the badge on him. And it nearly took him as long to rebuild Bobby’s old house. He saved up all of his deputy pay, besides necessities like food and a little rent for Jody, as she had kept him all this time on the couch. Well, until Alex had moved out to live with her boyfriend once she had finished college. That scored Dean his own room.

    Claire stayed in college, even obtained an undergraduate degree in pre-medicine, before pursuing her master’s degree in pathology. As she didn’t want to go into law enforcement per se and would not hunt, she wanted to become a coroner. Like this she could stay in the hunting world but also be close to Jody. Having a coroner slipping information into the hunter’s network was always a plus.

    Weekends had been spent hustling pool or on minor hunts for Dean. He made sure never to stay somewhere too long to avoid any kind of retaliation, because he would get good money off local arrogant dumbasses who fell for his drunk act. They thought he was an easy prey. That impression died in the moment his billiard cue hit the white ball.

    But that wasn’t the only way he made money. From his father’s old journal, he had gathered all the locations of his storage rooms. The ones the closest the man had raided, for anything he could sell that was not dangerous and any kind of cash his old man had hidden. Dean had come across a few personal items, memories from his childhood he had taken with himself. Like framed photos, trophies from school competitions and things alike. It would be good to have those as his personal belongings at the house he was currently (re-)building.

 

    It had been a quiet time, probably the quietest of Dean’s life. He had become a deputy through and through. His hunting was rather casual by now. Picking up something here and there along the way, but he did not actively look anymore. He was weary of that lifestyle. Some might think he would have gotten rusty. But he just lived completely off the radar. The name Dean Winchester had become a legend among hunters, but no one even knew if the man was still alive. Most thought he was dead.

 

    Having moved into Bobby’s old house had been a little of struggle at first. Not so much physically as psychologically. Dean just realized then, that the memories did weigh him down. And so, he started to change things. The layout of the house was still the same, so was the placing of most furniture. And while he had loved the old grump chic by then, he modernized a few things. Like the bathrooms and piping for example. Same with the bedroom. It might even be called modern or contemporary by now. But the study and kitchen nearly looked the same, besides that the furniture was new and instead of an old little TV, there was a flatscreen now downstairs.

    He even had dug a circle around the whole yard one night, thanks to his never-ending stamina and night vision (yeah, he had found that out one night when the lights he used during the building of the house had just gone out completely). The circle was filled with iron and salt, stones with sigils every few yards to complete the warding. Even if he didn’t actively hunt anymore, he was not going to be oblivious to the world of the supernatural, or the fact that one day something might come after him.

 

    Dean still had dinner with Jody and Claire at least once a week, at times even bringing over food he had cooked. They had settled into something like loose family ties as Dean seemed to replace the father figure for Claire now. But just because she saw him as something like a replacement dad, or uncle, it didn’t mean that those two fought less. Or rather bickered. But he let her teach him some things of the Generation-Y pop culture and affinity to technical progress, while he introduced her to the so called good old classics. Namely the pop culture he had grown up with. Even though she did not share his taste in music besides a few songs, she did share his enthusiasm about 80s action movies. In a sense, it also made her understand him more, made her realize what kind of wood he had been carved out of. 80s action heroes were rougher, had witty lines and the roles between man and woman were clearly divided, in stark contrast to how such movies were laid out these days.

    The last time he had felt this kind of responsibility, the last time he had watched a child grow up a little bit, not like she had really been a child when he first met her, had been with Ben. And he was proud of her. Proud she had gotten her life and her head on the right track.

 

    It had been a long day at the station and he was happy to kick back in an old chair he had put out at the back entrance, feet in heavy boots up on the cooler while opening a beer and taking today’s first sip of some cold ale. Since that night at the cabin where he had blown his own head into bits, he had barely witnessed nor used any of his powers. Besides building the house day and night as a one-man crew. But those times had been over for quite a while now. A year or two. He slept, he ate, he drank. Dean had simply gotten used to it and tried his best to stay himself and not let something that happened five years ago, and hadn’t bitten him in the ass yet, change who he was. He was still himself he realized after a while. And no Michael, not heaven or hell would ever be able to change that. Some might think he was happy now like this, but this was not his definition of happiness. He was content, yes, but happy? No.

    Sure, Jody and Claire made a hell of a replacement family, and he enjoyed working and spending time with them. Family does not end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either, Bobby used to say. But it was not the same. Not the same without Sam and Cas.

    He knew his mother had gone back to heaven and no matter how much he missed having his mom around, even though she had been like a stranger at first, he would not bring her back. He knew where she was right now, she had her two little boys and John. And she was happy.

    For Sam, he could only hope so. He hoped that maybe, only maybe, Jess was in his heaven. Maybe she had been his real soulmate. God, he so wished for him to have that. And a damn dog. Maybe the one from Flagstaff. Bones had been his name, hadn’t it? Maybe in his heaven he was a big-time lawyer, with a house with that white picket fence, the dog, Jess and kids. Dean had never asked himself if Sam had wanted kids, and instantly he felt guilty and bad for never having had that talk with his little brother. But he hoped he did. He hoped he would pass on that big moose brain of his and teach his children about good and evil, teach them not to be afraid and take things on head on. You know, the Winchester way: just roll with the punches.

    Maybe if he had a rascal little son, his second name would be Dean? Oh, how this Dean would feel honored. Man, if he would have ever experienced Sam settling down and having kids, he would have been the best uncle the planet would have ever seen! That was a little pipe dream Dean let himself have from time to time.

 

    But the one thing he could never be positive about, the one thing that still after nearly eight years worried him so much was Cas. He knew angels did not have souls. He knew he had been cast out from heaven so long ago. And no matter what the little feathery nerd had done, no matter what catastrophe he had derailed, he was never forgiven. Maybe that was why God had created humans after angels. Maybe humans were angels 2.0 because they could do one thing angels couldn’t: forgive. And they said forgiving is divine. Since humans supposedly were made after God’s image it must be true then. Good thing not all of humanity looked like Chuck.

    Knowing there was no trace of his best friend left in the universe anymore, pained the man a great deal. There was no pipe dream Dean could possibly have for Castiel because he just wasn’t anymore. Michael had blown him into pieces, erased him from existence, from any plane of existence. The only place he hadn’t erased him from though was Dean’s heart.

    There had been so many things Dean had still wanted to show Cas and he hated himself for never taking the time to take his winged friend on some sort of road trip. See his father’s creation, see nature as it was constantly changing, see the wonders of this world. Not only humans but things like high mountains, deep valleys, huge lakes and the ocean. Dean would never say it out loud, and he swore to himself no chick-flick moments, but at the ocean with Cas he might have smiled looking at his friend and nodded. Simply because he finally had the confirmation: Chuck had put the color of the stormy sea into Cas’ eyes.

    But that was as far as Dean let his at times questionable thoughts about the angel ever go. He knew their stare-offs and how they were willing to die at each other’s hands, die for another, betray another for the greater good just to forgive each other again, had been questionable. It was not like the man was blind. And it was not like Dean had never caught himself thinking: wow, that dude is handsome, when he saw such an individual. And he knew of his own attractiveness. Sadly, he had not used that in quite a while yet.

    But Cas was an angel. A being of celestial intent, a damn wavelength. The man could not even begin to fathom how his best friend really looked like. And he did not mean the vessel that was Jimmy Novak, even though that flesh and bone had become Cas after a while too. Was he really as tall as the Chrysler Building? Did he have four faces like they said? Did he have a distinct face? Or was it some sort of weird rotating head that showed an animal’s face according to his emotion? That would be hella creepy. Dean shuddered slightly. How could his thoughts grow so weird after only a sip of beer?

    With a shrug, Dean took another sip, looking at the sunset. It was something he allowed himself to do from time to time. He had never been one to take the time stargazing or watching sunsets or the sights when him and Sam had visited a town. Besides the fact that he hated towns. No open roads, yuck. But there had never been enough time for such things. Now he took the time. He knew time was all he had.

    And angel in a human body or with a human body or not. Would Cas consider himself male or female, or was he really junkless upstairs? Did he even see himself as a male on earth? Well, he knew how to make use of a male’s body even though it nearly cost him his life.

    Thank God, his phone rang and kicked him out of that absolutely weird and questionable train of thought in the next moment.

 

    Caller ID: Claire. Ah, his wanna-be daughter.

    “Hey munchkin, what’s up?” Dean answered casually, without a worry in the world.

    “Dean!”, she was breathless, sounding as if she was in a confined space and terrified.

    “Claire? Claire! What’s going on? Where are you?!” Immediately he was on his feet, his beer bottle falling on the ground, spilling on the gravel. He didn’t care about that a little bit at all.

    “Where are you?!” the man practically yelled into the phone while marching inside, grabbing his gun and keys, halfway to his patrol car.

    “I… I was helping with that autopsy. Then there was so much noise in the office and I smelled … Sulphur.” Claire hastily told him in a muffled voice, the color immediately draining out of Dean’s face. He turned on his heel, half running to the garage to uncover the Impala, pulling the trunk open. Everything was still where it always had been, so blindly, he reached for the demon killing knife.

    “I hid in a closet and put a line of salt in front of the door, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold.” The young woman informed him, Dean already able to hear things going flying and clattering onto the ground close to Claire. She winced before gasping.

    “There you are. I knew I smelled a cute blonde somewhere here.” Dean heard the demon say over the phone while he was getting into the car. It was one of these moments he wished Cas was here to zap them, even if it would make him sick and not able to poop for a week. With the lights on, Dean speeded down to the coroner’s office as fast as he could. He didn’t care if he was abusing his position as a deputy right now or not. And hell, Jody would have definitely done the same.

    Approaching the building he turned off the lights and as quietly as he could, slipped out of the car, still in his uniform. With his gun pulled, he opened the glass doors to the entrance carefully, stealing a glance before slipping inside. His back stayed pressed against the wall as he checked every corridor and corner on his way to the examination room. If there was one in here, there could be two.

    On his way further into the building, he found one of the office workers hiding under her desk, holding her head in fear, sobbing. All her colleagues around here were dead and the woman in the light grey skirt and jacket was scared for her life. He showed her to stay quiet with his hands before approaching her.

    “Ma’am, are you okay? The way outside is free. I will call for backup but you really should leave.” Dean told her, to what she just nodded before darting off.

    Suddenly he heard a scream which was definitely Claire and just ran. He ran and ran, down to the basement, his breath coming out in hot puffs before stopping close to the room where the noise came from. All he could think was no, no, no, no, when he glanced through the glass in the door, seeing the demon hold up Claire with inhuman strength by her throat. That was all it took for Dean to charge into the room, which was filled with a sterile smell and the one of decaying flesh. Everywhere sleek silver surfaces of working tables and instruments.

    Aiming precisely without even halting his movements, he started blasting the demon full of bullets, even though it had no effect on the creature. But he thought it would be at least a diversion, an attempt to get closer, to make the demon let Claire go, but that fucker did not move one bit.

    “Dean, Dean, Dean. We already thought you were dead, but here you are a little deputy at the ass of nowhere. I always said, if you were dead we would be the first to know, with your soul knocking on the doors of hell.” The brown-haired woman the demon was currently possessing turning her face to him, looking all smug.

    It left a gaping hole, with blood streaming out, Claire spilling her guts, literally, on the floor. Dean watched in horror as she fell limply to the ground after, eyes rolled into the back of her skull.

    “That’s what happens when you sniff around too much. Well, Crowley will be happy to know you are still alive and kicking. So, toodles!” And that bitch was about to smoke out. Just that it never happened. Because the demon ended up with a demon blade jammed into her neck and Dean yelling bloody murder before pulling the weapon back out, shoving the body from him.

    On hands and knees, he crawled over to Claire, pulling her bleeding and now dead body into his lap. Immediately the man started shaking and tears spilled quietly when he petted her hair.

    “It’s ok munchkin. You’ll go to a better place. You will see your mom and dad again, you might even spend eternity with them in heaven. And if not you will definitely see them in yours. You’ll be at peace and… and nothing will hurt anymore. Okay? Can you do that for me, munchkin? Carry a smile up there? And if anyone gives you the stink eye, kick their ass n’ give them my greetings.”

 

    How would he tell Jody?

 

    The one thing Dean had missed in this whole situation was that the woman he had freed earlier has walked out with a smug grin on her face and black eyes. “Sir, I found Dean Winchester. He is in Sioux Falls. I will trail him.” Was all she had said into her phone the moment she strolled without a care out of the building.

 

* * *

 

 

    Jody had wanted to be alone, which Dean couldn’t resent her for. He on the other hand had turned to an old good friend: Jackie. Him and his bottle of Jack were sitting at the desk in the study. Dean could not even grab a coherent thought besides: why?

    There had been no demonic omens, nothing that had pointed towards the fact that a demon was in town. That or he had really gotten rusty and had been blind. And of course, there he sat, typically Dean Winchester, blaming himself.

 

    But he knew he could sit there and lament his existence and why fate was again being such a bitch, though worse words were by now associated with her in his head, or he could do something. He knew Jody would be taking days off and he had volunteered to take over her workload. It was still the best option for him: work more, think less. Or just get your hands dirty somehow. And so, he started with the house. In the end, he was a bachelor so he didn’t always clean up his mess. But in situations like these, it seemed that Dean developed a kind of OCD. The place had to be clean.

 

    Night had come long ago over Sioux Falls when he carried a heavy trash bag outside, overhearing faintly someone talking on the phone. Once he put down the bag and grabbed the shotgun from under the little roof by the back entrance, he creeped closer around the house. The demon blade was still strapped in a holster on his shoulder as he had not bothered changing yet.

    Willing himself to see in the dark, to hear what that person was talking about, he could see them walk, just to be stopped by an invisible barrier. Something supernatural.

    Making use of his night vision he saw it was the woman he had freed earlier today. Son of a bitch!

    “Yes, sir. I have found where he lives. The lot looks kind of run down but the house looks new… And… And I can’t advance, I am walking into an invisible barrier.”

    And suddenly there was a loud bang and the demon got torn off her feet, Dean having blasted her with a load from the shotgun. He reloaded quickly, the shells dropping out steaming onto the gravel. Another shot at the demon that tried to pick itself up, still holding onto its phone.

    “I’ll take this.” The hunter said, a foot on the yelping demon’s throat before he unsheathed the knife and plunged it into one of the woman’s eyes. Or what had been a woman before.

    “Douchebag.” Was all Dean said then, knowing Crowley was at the other end.

    “My, my. What a language. Has your mother never washed out your mouth with soap? Is this how you greet an old friend?” Crowley’s annoying Scottish and flamboyant accent drilled itself into Dean’s ear.

    “Haha, good joke. Oh, how have we laughed. One of your goons killed my friend’s daughter, you asshole.” A short pause. “My munchkin! And now you dare to have the audacity to send them after me?! Have you forgotten who I am?!” Dean was yelling through the phone now. On the other end, Crowley was grimacing in disbelief and holding the phone away from his ear. How did anyone dare to yell at the king of hell like that!

    “Well, let’s say it was an accident?” he tried to appease the Winchester, which was A: half-assed B: he knew would not work anyway, but what else did he have to offer? Besides that, he had finally gotten the last missing piece. Dean’s location.

    “I will find your sorry ass in your tailor-made pants and skin you alive. Or did you forget I was Alastair’s best student?” his voice grew dark with promise. “And then I will pick apart your oh so loved hell. Or even better, I will become king of hell, and keep you as my dog.” The thought nearly made Dean laugh, the pain so immense in this moment it had shred nearly every last bit of his sanity. “Oh, and darling, we both know I have the leadership qualities.” His voice nearly sounded as condescending as Crowley’s usually did, making the man on the other end stare in surprise.

 

    The call ended with a loud bang and another load from the shotgun, blowing the phone into pieces across his backyard.

 

    Damn, now he had to dig grave to get rid of the body. How he had not missed that part of hunting. But maybe it was time to pick up his blade again. His lack of aging would soon become a problem at the sheriff’s station anyway. And even though this was exactly what he had told Claire not to do, not to pursue and let herself be consumed by, it was what he would be chasing after now: revenge.

    Crowley had been dancing through their lives and jumping off their blades for way too long by now. It was time to get rid of that pain in the ass. 

 

* * *

 

 

    Seven years ago.

    “Mother.” Crowley said in his usual not so amused tone when meeting Rowena. He had his minions bring a table and chairs into his throne room, tea and biscuits laid out.

    “Fergus.” Rowena said in her typical tone, voice lingering on the S at the end. “You have not been clear why you needed me to visit.” Needless to say, the witch was still constantly on the run, from the Winchesters and partially even from her own son. Mostly she just wanted a comfortable life.

    “The name is Crowley, but let’s not get stuck on technicalities.” He paused, sitting at the table, motioning for her to do the same. She did once she had put her bag aside.

    “I, no, we might face a little problem with which I will need your assistance.” Crowley admitted, not really happy having to do so.

    “Oh, is that so? I don’t think my only son, who is the king of hell, requires the help of a measly witch as myself.” The resentment and spite was thick in her voice as she poured them both a cup of tea, preparing it the same way. If it came this, like mother like son.

    “Considering I was not even important enough, though I am your mother, to be kept around, but instead kicked out.” The redhaired woman spoke, stirring her cup of tea, not even looking at the man sitting at the opposite side of the table.

    Meanwhile Crowley was nearly gritting his teeth, ready to slam his fist down on the table due to his mother’s rather annoying and resentful behavior. But he refrained. He would not give it to her, she would not get a raise out of him. Instead he took a deep breath and pulled up a brow before doing the same his mother had done, to his own cup of tea.

    “Well. You do know the Winchesters.” He cleared his throat. “Pardon me, the Winchester. A year ago, an immense blessing has been laid onto him, probably by the archangel Michael. The man is full up to his neck with immense power. And it is a threat to hell, to me and even to you. Because none of your fancy witchcraft will help you once he gets his hands on you.”

    A moment later he slipped her the paper with the drawings of the symbols.

    “My demons have found out the meanings of the symbols and the spells. But there is, no to us known way to reverse it. Besides the Book of the Damned. And this is where you come into play.”

 

    Rowena was walking up and down through the throne room, in one hand her cup of tea, the paper in the other. She hummed, and stopped in between, tilting her head or the paper as she tried to make sense of the spell.

    “So, we got the symbol for blessing, the symbol for resurrection, the symbol for god on the outside. Then the seven seals of Amon, Beleth, Berith, Botis, Cimeis, Furcas and Goap. All strong white magic seals, each of them bearing gifts to the recipient of the blessing.” She spoke, meanwhile Crowley kept his eyebrow pulled up with his finger as his chin rested in his hand, watching his mother with a sigh. She was not telling him much he did not know yet.

    “What worries me though is the seal of the seven archangels in the middle and the master key seal at the bottom.” She then put her mug on the armrest of his throne which made Crowley inhale sharply. How dare she!

    “This thing comes with a seal. So, if your hunter buddy is running around with this and the blessing has not been fully unsealed yet there might even be more to it.” She took a short pause. “If he already makes you run for the hills now, imagine what would happen if the blessing is fully unsealed.”

    That just drained all the color out of Crowley’s face. If Dean was fearsome now, if the seal was broken, he would probably be able just to march through hell and steamroll it into his new personal playground.

    “How is it unsealed? Wait, do I even want to know? How is it reversed?” Crowley, hastily asked, turning further to his mother in his chair, the cup on his throne already forgotten.

    “I can’t tell you how to reverse it right now. I would need the book and probably cook up an absolutely fitted counter spell for this blessing.” Thoughtfully, she paused while walking on her heels through the room, making dull clicking noises on the stone ground. “Haven’t you said earlier that this was used by the archangel Michael?”

    “Yes, does it make any difference who used it?” Crowley asked with a frown upon his face. In the next moment Rowena half bent over, laughing and slapping her thigh.

    “Mother. The juicy bits. Now.” Impatience and anger was slowly rising in his voice. “Or do I need to bring out the witch collar again?”

    Momentarily she stopped, clearing her voice, standing straight in her always so elegant and female posture.

    “The spell that chains man’s lofty pride

And high ambition down,

And blots from thought all claims beside

What though wilt, blessing, own

Is not the charm form or face,

But Virtue, Truth, and Love-

The cheering voice, the angel grace,

That angel natures prove.

 

    ”Oh! Thou dost cling around the hear

Like a bright dream of heaven;

Thy love doth seem a precious part

Of Eden’s bliss, still given

In this cold world to erring man,

The he may ever see

The blessing waiting on the ban-

The heaven you left in thee! … And so on, and so forth, my darling son.” Rowena recited a part of a poem she had read in an old English journal from the 1900s, by L.F.

    “Well done mother, but what should this tell me? Or is this a medieval poetry slam suddenly and I should bring out the next best thing I can remember?” voice thick with sarcasm, Crowley snorted ungracefully, rolling his eyes.

    “Don’t you understand? Read in the lines! The spell contains white magic seals explicitly bringing the recipient love, but they are also what holds the seal. A blessing given to a man who holds truth, virtue and love. So pure, it is like angel grace.” She tilted her head, giving him an expectant look. “A man who might never see the love he has and lives in a cold word, but can have Eden’s bliss as heaven is inside him!” By now she put her hands on her hips, her almond shaped eyes staring him down as her straight, slim and long nose scrunched up.

    “But mother it is only a poem.” Crowley tried to reason with her, gesturing nonchalantly with the hand that was not supporting his now even heavier feeling head.

    “Doesn’t matter, Fergus. You and I both know, angels used to walk among men, teach them their ways and knowledge. What might be a poem to a scholar, might as well be the incantation!” Rowena countered, handing him back the paper, sighing then. “As long as the Winchester does not find the love that will invoke his own Eden’s bliss in him you are safe.” The woman added.

 

    For a moment, Crowley just sat there and thought. “Knowing him, he might find true love in the lap of a bartender and his Eden is his car’s backseat.” He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head at what a single-track mind he knew Dean could have. “Thank God, the angel is dead who he always made moon eyes at.”

 

    “Well, son. Since I have already done some work, I am right assuming I am welcome to stay? But we should talk about my pay now.” Rowena reminded her son as she sat closer to him on her chair this time, putting one leg over the other as her slim hand laid itself upon Crowley’s lower arm.

    “What do you want?” Again annoyance. He had known it would come to this. There was never a quid without pro quo with Rowena.

    “Well, I have a few ideas actually…” the witch trailed off with a sly smile, which she thought looked rather innocent. Batting her lashes did not help much with it.

    “Let’s get over with it, mother.” Crowley answered, knowing this day would be long and tedious.

 

* * *

 

 

    It had taken them another year to get their hands on the Book of the Damned, as nothing just went in and out of the bunker. Besides the fact, it took Rowena’s knowledge again to find it without being summoned there. It didn’t take the witch too long to find the right seals, the negatives to them to be able to reverse the blessing. The incantation was a whole other story though. But the one thing they still needed, had disappeared into nothing: Dean. Without the recipient of the blessing to use the reversal on, they wouldn’t be able to do anything.

 

    Crowley had sent out his demons to look for the Winchester. Every town that had any kind of supernatural activity, would also have a minor demon omen. But as Dean was not actively looking for those, neither for hunts he wouldn’t be found in this way.

    With time passing and Crowley pretty much yelling about how it was not possible that he could not find one measly human on this godforsaken planet, he had turned to more of a technical solution. His demons had invaded nearly every coroner’s office, nearly every police and sheriff station the hunter might turn up at. By now the big office room had turned more into a media room. One that would put the NSA central to shame. He had his goons watching the screens 24/7 and neither could they find Dean’s face, nor his car. The hunter kept it hidden at the house, always using the patrol car.

    Not even scanning for grace with a satellite had helped anywhere. If the man owned the moon, why could he not own a measely satellite?

    And this search had continued for years until the incident in Sioux Falls. So far, Dean had simply been lucky Sioux Falls police station was not as modernized and worked with a closed network. It was not easy to get into it from the outside.

 

* * *

 

 

    Now, in the present day, Dean found himself sitting on his couch, some rerun of some soap opera running on the flatscreen, while he was downing his fifth beer. Thoughts swarmed through his head about the demons, Crowley and how thoughtless and naïve he had become. Of course, he always went back to the thought that it was his fault that Jody was currently planning Claire’s funeral. She he wanted to stay alone and keep busy in order to deal with it. Which Dean absolutely understood.

 

    Not particularly doing anything, Dean suddenly started to feel queasy. So much he became nauseated. The hunter darted off the couch to the sink in the kitchen, heaving as he was hunched over it. Wave after wave of nausea washed over him and he started to sweat, not knowing what had suddenly come over him. A moment later he grabbed his head, hands over his ears as a loud and high-pitched noise filled his head. The same noise when an archangel had been approaching. His eyes were shut tight before the world around him became brighter and brighter. Confused he looked around, catching his reflection in the silvery sink. It was him who was glowing, it were his eyes which were becoming bright from the inside, burning blindingly with grace. One by one the lightbulbs in the house started exploding when the volume of the noise in his head increased. He was screaming by now, falling onto his knees on the wooden floor. Twisting and screaming, the man rolled over the floor, the glowing and noise coming to what felt like its climax. Frantically he looked around in the dark, he himself the only light source. The windows of the kitchen vibrating, food and mugs starting to fall out of the kitchen cabinets, the pots jumping on the stove.

    His legs would not carry him out of the house, even though he knew it was something he could not outrun. He tried picking himself back up, dealing with the immense pain, with the liquid fire that flushed through his body, pulsing in every vein. Dean didn’t get further as onto hands and knees, the noise still the same no matter if he was clutching his head or not. It was so loud he did not even hear his own voice, his own screaming over it before an immense shockwave blasted out the windows and the lamps on the yard, throwing down the TV from the wall and the plates out of the kitchen cupboards. And as suddenly as it happened, it stopped.

    Heaving, barely able to catch his breath he picked himself up, clawing at the kitchen and grabbing onto the sink. The blinding light slowly retreated from his eyes but in the reflection of one of the pots that had fallen over, he saw a shadow behind his back. Grabbing for it behind himself, he was getting a hold of nothing but air. Absolutely freaked out, he ran to the bathroom to find a mirror, but that laid shattered in the sink too. Picking up a big piece, the man held it up just to witness the fainting shadow of a pair of wings sprouting from his back. In the blink of an eye they were gone now though. The memories flashed in his mind of Cas in the barn, of every angel he had ever seen show its wings.

    “Son of a bitch!”

Background music: Bob Seger - Beautiful loser // Triumph - Fight the good fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pfew, that was a ride. **Kudos & Comments are love!!**
> 
> I am so so so sorry, but for the plot and progress of the story, Claire had to die. 
> 
> For any of you who are interested in how the spell might look, since describing it isn't so easy: [HERE YA GO :D](http://i.imgur.com/XqYCfbJ.jpg) Another photoshop escapade.
> 
> Next chapter THE RESSURECTION will finally come ^-^
> 
> For teasers, feel free to check my tumblr: [ROCKTAPES](http://rocktapes.tumblr.com)
> 
> Off to writing the next chapter. Should be up by the weekend I think!  
> TOODLES!


	8. Paradise Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gives up on his normal life and returns to the only one he really knows: a hunter's. After what Crowley did to him, he wants his revenge on the King of Hell. But without any answer to what Michael really did to him (though his suspicions seem to get confirmed), he won't get far. Therefore the hunter breaks into heaven, to find out what happened to him. On his way around the sheer endless place, he comes across a tiny flicker of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, here some more for your reading pleasure! :D
> 
> As always, betaed by the lovely [The_Scheming_Turtle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Scheming_Turtle/pseuds/The_Scheming_Turtle%22)! What would I do without your corrections of my antipathy for apostrophes...
> 
> The banner really says it all.
> 
>  **Warnings for:**  
>  Language  
> Deformations / Mutation

_Where am I? It’s so dark here… Hm, I can see the grace of a few angels. But it’s all so dull and… What happened to my brethren?_

_There are no souls here, no humans. So, I guess I am in heaven. But how did I get here?_

_What happened to Michael, Lucifer, Mary, Sam and… Dean? I saw them all die besides Michael and Dean._

_Dean! Is Dean okay?!_

_My charge… My responsibility… I failed him. Again._

* * *

 

Dean stood in the darkness of his house. Every bulb blown out, shattered glass all over the wooden floor. He pulled the lighter from his pocket, lighting the Zippo. Old habits die hard, but for now he wanted to rely on his human side.

He had known something was going on with him, but in the last years he had simply accepted it, started to live a different life. The faint suspicion in the back of his mind, that he was not really human anymore, started to grow more and more by the second.

Looking at his watch, it was nearing morning already. How long had he been out? What had felt like minutes might have been hours actually.

Not thinking long or much about it, he went upstairs to change. Jeans, a black shirt, a flannel. Pulling that certain green jacket, he had used to wear out of the closet, immediately made his mindset change. It even changed his expression to a stern, a gruffer one. Once his boots were laced up, it was as if he had been set back nearly ten years in time. As if the last eight years never happened. Halfway stomping, he went down the stairs to the basement, opening a big chest he had put in the corner. After picking up a bag of salt and some holy water, he picked up his own gun, not the one he got as a sheriff, but his very own. The Colt M1911 he had gotten from John as a gift one day. The one with the engravings and the polished handle. A few minutes later he opened the huge doors to the barn, setting what he carried along with him aside. Dean took off the canvas cover of the Impala, opening her trunk, setting the chest’s lid up with a shotgun to keep it open.

It was like a ritual he was performing right now, preparing himself for the job. No, for his true calling. And this time he would make damn sure to use that grenade launcher.

With weapons and clothes stored, he got into her, starting the engine. A known feeling washed over him as he petted her dashboard with a little smile, putting her in reverse to back out of the barn. Doors were closed again, before the hunter drove off onto the road. There was barely any traffic right now so he dared to push her gas pedal down a bit further, shooting down one of Sioux Falls’ back roads. He liked getting a feel for her again, how his baby took the turns of the road, how her engine purred and rumbled when accelerating.

 

Dean’s first stop was Jody’s. It was still pretty early, but he knew the woman. He knew she was already up. Especially judging by the soft noises coming from the inside of the house. Once he had knocked, she opened with a frown just to look surprised right after at his attire. It had been years since she had seen him like this. And she knew what it meant. The exchange of looks was wordless as he handed her his badge. Both of them knew he would not have been able to stay much longer. He didn’t age. And soon the colleagues would ask themselves if he was using Botox or had found the Holy Grail.

“Take this as my official resignation.” And a moment later he turned on his heel, walking back to the Impala. He waved and smiled smile faintly before the typical creaking of the driver’s door filled the morning air and he got back in. Her motor revved as he drove off, leaving behind a little bit of dust and exhaust fumes.

 

Dean didn’t get too far though yet. He had no leads for Crowley’s whereabouts. Or rather he knew where that Scottish scum was hiding. Question was, how would he get in? To him that just sounded like catching himself a few demons and sharpening his knife before picking it back up.

The dreams about hell had long subsided, but it was moments like this that the memories flared back up. Having made peace with the fact that he was a master torturer, Dean did not hesitate anymore to make use of those skills.

 

A few minutes later he stepped into the local diner with his laptop under his arm, finding himself a free booth.

“Deputy Winchester?” the blonde waitress asked in surprise as he was not in uniform.

“Off-duty. No actually, I quit. So, call me Dean.” Giving her a faint smile, he nodded. “Same, as always please.”

“Comin’ right up, darling.” She scribbled down his order and left the table to take care of the other customers.

 

40 minutes later, a plate with eggs, bacon and some pancakes was empty and Dean had found two towns with demonic activity. It was like the last time he was on this crucible.

A thought crossed the man’s mind then. For a long time, he had just accepted his face, accepted what was had happened to him. But he didn’t know exactly what it had been. And he was not one to make assumptions. Or rather, he didn’t want his assumption to be true. His mind connected the dots and he paid for the food before leaving the dinner quickly. A moment later he was digging through one of his duffels, picking out his brother’s journal. It was the first time held it since the night he had left the bunker. Part of him wondered if the bunker still stood?

Lovingly turning the pages, squinting at the handwriting he tried to find the address of a certain man. A medium Sam and Cas had visited in the day to contact Bobby and bust out Metatron.

Ah there it was. He was going to meet Oliver Pryce. A psychic.

And he sure as hell would find out how to haul his ass into heaven without having to die.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, did we do it?” Crowley asked, with his eyes open wide, gesturing with his hands. Meanwhile Rowena stood over a smoking brass bowl she had ignited the herbs, bones and other ingredients of the spell with.

“Well, my darling son, I think so.” the witch answered with a smug smile, ready to ask Crowley to hold the end of his bargain.

But then there was a knock on the door, one of Crowley’s lackeys entering.

Ready to celebrate their victory, the annoyance on Crowley’s face was even more evident than usually when being interrupted. “What is it, maggot?!” The demon’s voice was louder than necessary again.

“Sir. There was a sudden spike of angelic grace in South Dakota.” The already grey haired man spoke, holding a sheet with analytic data about the event on it. He stepped closer to his king to hand him the sheet.

“… where in South Dakota?” came the question from the Scotsman, who was slowly turning towards his mother. The latter was starting to back away slowly, the horror written across her face.

“Sioux Falls.” was the answer. And Crowley had expected it to fall off the lips of his minion.

“Bloody hell!” The walls shook slightly with Crowley’s voice booming under the alcove that made the rooms ceiling.

“Fergus…” Rowena inquired as her back met the next pillar in the throne room.

“You, oldie, tell everyone to stay away from the Winchester as far as possible.” With a nod the order was taken, the older man taking his leave, rather hurriedly.

“Mother…” It was hard for the King of Hell to control himself right now. “What have you done?!”

 

* * *

 

 

Who was knocking at this hour at his door?

That was not a question Oliver asked himself many times. He couldn’t hear any thoughts or intentions, so he was hesitant to open his door. But there was no unsettling feeling in his stomach, no dark aura surrounding the person standing at his door.

A louder knock. Of course, he had not opened up yet and the lights were on. So, with the chain on his door, he opened slightly, peeking out.

“Who are you and what do you want?” the elderly man asked Dean who stood in front of his door, looking rather slightly annoyed.

“Oliver Pryce?” Dean asked, trying to make sure. Usually psychics were better at this stuff and he was asking himself if he had the right address.

“Yes, I am… and who are you?” He could not read the man so he had to ask, just like any other normal mortal would do. But Oliver wasn’t normal per se.

“Banged up job for a psychic to ask me who I am.” Dean cracked a grin, waiting for the man to open his door further because talking through a creak in it was plain childish. “Winchester, Dean Winchester. You helped my brother Sam and my friend Cas once.”

As Oliver opened the door to let the hunter in, associating his name with the Men of Letters immediately, he remembered. A tall guy with shaggy hair and another slightly constipated smaller man. Off the smaller one he couldn’t read anything. He just projected a myriad of colors.

“Come in.” With a motion of his hand he welcomed Dean inside, closing the door behind him, leading the way. “What brings you here? Would you like a mug of tea? I just made a fresh kettle.”

What was it with psychics and their tea?! At least that was what Dean asked himself, shaking his head no. He wanted this done and over with.

“I need to make a call.” Dean had something certain in mind, someone certain, and no it wasn’t Bobby. It was someone who knew the layout and mechanics of heaven better.

Oliver gave him a confused look, to which Dean just pointed up, the epiphany a moment later visible on the house owner’s face.

“I understand. Just like your brother. Say, is he well? He was very nice and well mannered.” Making a little small talk while setting up the table for a séance was always good.

“He’s dead.” Dean answered matter-of-factly while he shrugged his jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair. No more words than necessary were exchanged.

 

* * *

 

 

Pool tables were not exactly the most comfortable place to sleep on, especially without a pillow and a blanket, but in Ash’s heaven in the roadhouse it was always warm. Considering it had been situated pretty much in the desert. Or something alike.

Nothing had changed about the man. His mullet hairdo was still the same: business in the front, party in the back. His black band shirt with the cut off sleeves, his jeans and boots; everything was still in place. The man thought he was hallucinating when he heard a voice call out his name. He definitely should cut back on those Jaegerbombs. Even when he had splashed his face and drank some water the persistent voice which had started cussing at him by now, kept calling out to him.

When had he left his self-built laptop on? Oh well, what better had he to do than check on what the feathery bunch was doing?

Looking at the screen, he pressed some buttons but that weird pattern stayed in place.

“What is this, the Matrix?”, he asked as he kept pushing around, squinting at the screen.

“No, it’s me, you dumbass. It’s Dean.” The voice spoke to him through the computer and when Ash leaned back further, he could recognize the hunters face in all the symbols that ran down his screen.

“Dean?! Dean! Pal, it has been quite a while since I heard from you! How you doing down there?” Ash was being his typically cheerful self, but how could he not, considering his heaven was a 24/7 open bar.

“Fan-freaking-tastic.” Came the answer a moment later, Dean sighing after. “Listen, buddy. I kinda need your help here. Sam and mom are dead and I need to get my ass up into heaven without dying.”

“Oh, I know they’re dead.” Ash nonchalantly informed him, Dean’s expression changing to something rather surprised, as much as the man could tell from all the abstract symbols sliding over his screen.

“Sam came over yesterday for a beer. You know how I keep tabs on you guys. Dunno about ye mom, but he had a blonde in tow. Those two definitely know how to have a good time. We had quite a night with him, Jess I think the girl is called, Jo, Charlie and Pamela. Man, the stories Charlie and Jo can tell about you… Did you really try to hook up with Jo on her last night? And you, you of all people LARPed?” Ash knew Dean well enough to inform him about these things, as the older Winchester had constantly been worried about his baby brother.

“Shut up!” Dean said in annoyance, but the smile in his voice was hard to be overheard. “Did he look happy?” Dean asked about Sam in the next moment. A sentimentality Dean rarely showed, flooded his voice. Meanwhile Oliver told him he would need to hurry up because it was hard to keep the connection up.

“Yeah he is doing good. He is… at peace. As we all are supposed to be here. But you know me, I get bored. So, you said you gotta get up here, Dean-o? Give me approximately… 18 seconds.” If Dean didn’t know any better he might think Ash and Gabriel were cousins or something. There was silence for a while before Ash spoke again: “Hm… I know the angels use a portal to go between heaven and earth, but it usually is heavily guarded. Since three of four of the archangels are dead, Joshua is sort of in charge of heaven. But since your brothers stunt, and Bobby escaping, there are patrols on the hallways now. Yeah man, heaven is like one huge apartment complex where everyone has their own little place.” Thinking for a moment, Ash hummed, opening himself a beer. Who needed water and it was any hour of the day in heaven anyway, so why bother not drinking before noon when it was always party hour up there for him? On the other end of the line for a moment Dean was stuck on the number three. Shouldn’t all four archangels be dead?

“I could tell you where the portal is, but I don’t know if you can cross it as a human. And reapers only send up the dead. I could whip up my own portal that leads straight to my haven, so you’d be safe, but the premise would be the same.” In this short amount of time Ash could not come up with any better answer for the hunter.

“Don’t worry about it Ash. I’ll make it work. Just tell me where the portal is.” Considering Dean never had picked up anyone or brought anyone there really since it had been the times when he wore the Mark of Cain when Cas frequented that place.

“Good, got something to write?”

 

* * *

 

 

The hunter could not believe, that the portal to heaven was actually in the sandbox of a playground. It had taken him a few hours to get there and once he had arrived in the close vicinity of it he had parked the Impala, making the last bit of the short trek by foot. Once the area came into view, he reached inside of his pocket to hold onto the angel blade he had taken from the trunk.

It had been years since he had seen angels. And even though these ones posed as mothers or older siblings watching their children, he just knew they were angels. He could literally hear, if not even feel the power that radiated off them in a low hum. Dean had guessed they must have spotted him, felt his presence by now, but none of them really moved. None of the three angels guarding the portal even took a defensive stance or approached him. And so, he stepped out from between the trees and bushes surrounding the playground, advanced further. What he realized then a moment later, was that they were actually bowing their heads to him. Confusion ran over his face as he could casually just stroll over the playground, none of them uttering a word to him nor looking at him.

Once Dean arrived at the symbol drawn into the sand, or rather carved, the little girl that sat by the box, lit it up with a single motion of her hand. Taking that as an invitation as they just let him pass he stepped onto the symbol.

 

A mere second later he felt like he just got tossed through a door. And that known feeling of nausea spread through his stomach, the same when Cas had used to zap him. Oh boy, he wouldn’t be able to poop for a week again.

But not only had it been the feeling of being tossed through a door, he had actually come out of a door, which closed behind him. Number 42, good to know. With the blade held tightly in his hand he looked down the sheer endless corridor that was blindingly white. Which side should he walk down the corridor? Why had Cas never told him heaven was such a damn confusing place?

Deciding randomly, he started walking, looking at the inscription of the doors. He memorized the numbers to be able to find his way back later.

Every corner he memorized too, but while taking it he made sure not to draw the attention of any angel on himself. It was confusing anyway that he was not seeing a road. Heaven was supposed to be different for anyone, but either it only looked like that when you were dead, or he was indeed not human anymore…

Dean kept on walking and it felt like he had been up there for years already when there started to be the names of people on the doors instead of numbers or something scribbled in Enochian on the doors. Frustration soon took over when he realized he was just at A but Novak, Singer and Winchester were way further down the alphabet.

Checking the next corner for any angel, he took it when none came but suddenly two stepped out of the heaven of someone and Dean nearly froze. The angels immediately spotted him, but instead of charging at him, they also bowed their heads. It had not only been the guards on earth that did that.

“Commander.” One of the angels spoke, a young woman in a grey pantsuit who wore her brown hair down.

Commander? Dean was again confused and stepped closer to her, carefully.

“With what can we assist you, since you grace us with your presence?” The young man in a dark blue cardigan and grey jeans spoke. Seems like all angels liked muted colors to wear up here, Dean thought to himself. But since they already asked, he would answer them.

“I need to visit the heaven of Claire Novak.” Dean simply said, which made the angels nod.

“Muriel, if you do not mind, I shall take the commander there.” The male angel spoke, to which the female one only nodded. “Please follow me.” He said, and instead of walking down long halls, there were in front of the girl’s door immediately after only taking one turn. Huh, this seemed to be like Yggdrasil, the tree in Norse mythology that connected all worlds. Just like in the Norse universe, there seemed to be shortcuts that got you faster from A to B, if you knew them.

“Do you wish to enter it?” came the question from the angel whose name Dean did not know.

“I just want to see if she is happy. It is of personal concern to me.” He thought speaking like them would not get him spotted so easily. No matter why they called him commander, he would not try to garner attention on his person. With a nod, the angel waved its hand over the surface of the door, a part becoming see through.

And what Dean saw warmed his heart. Not only was Claire happy, but she was together in one heaven with her parents. They were having dinner and she was animatedly talking about something concerning college and her career choice it seemed.

Dean tried himself then with a swipe of his hand to reverse the transparency of the door and it actually worked. He didn’t want to spy more on Claire, he just wanted to see if she was happy. Heaven indeed was peaceful if it came to that.

A sudden urge flooded him, to keep heaven safe. Not for the angels or because of any celestial or God given reason. No, to keep those he loved safe. Even if he had failed them once on earth already, he would not fail them again in heaven.

“Would you like to visit anywhere else?” The angel asked, and something in Dean’s mind told him that the angel was called Eremiel.

“No, Eremiel, thank you. I shall take my journey on my own from now on.” Why was he talking like that? And if he squinted really hard, he could see the other angel’s graze licking and rising up around his vessel in little silvery blue flames.

The other angel seemed flattered and humbled that his name was remembered and bid his good bye with a bow, fluttering off in a flap of wings.

“Well… let’s get this show on the road then.” Dean said to himself, giving something a try. He would not think about how weird it was that he could do those things now. He could have a damn freak out later, that plus a panic attack.

Walking, he took the next corner, closing his eyes and thinking of Bobby. Once he reached the next door he was indeed in the corridors with the Bobbys.

“Sweet.” The hunter who was posing as heaven’s commander said to himself, doing the hand swipe thing again.

Fondly he looked at the other man’s heaven, the older hunter’s living room. The man had been in his armchair, but now he stood up to walk up to the table that had food laid out on it.

“Bobby Singer, did you wash your damn car dirty hands this time before you sit down at my table?” Dean knew that voice. It was…

“Ellen?!” Dean nearly yelped, cracking up with a laugh as he watched Bobby pull the woman in gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek. For which he nearly got hit with a cooking spoon.

“Oh, you sly dog.” Dean commented on the scene that played out in front of his eyes before swiping it away. The last heaven he would visit now might be the most important one. And it would be a lie if he proclaimed that he was not one bit scared to see what his brother’s heaven looked like.

Another corner zap and hand swipe later, he could see Sam. His younger brother sat on a couch in a house Dean did not recognize. A moment later Jess walked in and plopped down on the couch besides him with a bowl of popcorn in her hand. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer.

“Hey Dean, are you coming? That Die Hard marathon was your idea!” Sam called out to what seemed to be a kitchen and then Dean saw himself, walking in with two beers in hand and a soda. The soda got uncapped and handed to Jess, the same happened with the beers. One for Sam, one for himself before he plopped down on a nearby chair, reaching over to steal some popcorn from Jess, which just got him his wrist slapped. But with a laugh from Jess, and he did laugh too, she offered him the bowl as the movie started.

 

The feeling in Dean’s gut tightened and he felt his lungs burning. And before he could stop it he felt his face become wet. A single tear ran down his face. He was happy for his brother, even happier that he was part of his heaven, even if he was not really there. And he never would. Realization settled in, in that moment, that Dean no matter what he did, how hard he fought, how much he might redeem himself to heaven and God (that was if God was still around, which he wasn’t. He had left the building ten years ago), he would never have this.

Michael had really doomed him.

 

But dwelling on this would not help him right now, nor was this what he had come here for. He swiped over the door again, continuing to walk.

This was too easy, he told himself. Nothing ever came easy in a Winchester’s life. And if it did, it usually bit them in the ass when they weren’t looking.

Being sentimental, he decided to stop by his mother’s heaven after all. And a quick glance told him that she was happy. Her hair was longer and she was wearing an apron in their old house. Little Sammy was sitting at the table and getting the crust cut off his sandwich, before the backdoor opened and he saw his younger self walk through it with a baseball bat held in hand, in a softball team’s uniform. He was followed by his father, who ruffled up his hair, smiling down at him.

“Guess what Mary!” John called out to his wife who came over to greet him with a kiss. “Our son hit a homerun today!” His dad even picked him up in that moment even though he must have been around seven or eight years old already. Dean hugged on his father before leaning into his mother’s kiss to his still blond hair.

 

No wonder Mary has had such difficulties living on earth outside her heaven. It was indeed heaven, in the truest meaning of the word. But for him, paradise was forever lost.

It hurt. Oh god, did it hurt. Not that he was never going to have this. But that this was how his life could have been. No, how it should have been had Azazel never come to infect Sam with demon blood.

Swallowing a thick lump down his throat and willing his eyes to stop from burning he walked on. Ash had said something about Joshua being in charge now. And so, he thought hard about the angel he had once already met. The gardener God had spoken to. Taking the next corner, he looked down the corridor to be met with the sight of what looked like… elevator doors?

Approaching them he could not see any button or anything, so Dean started to feel around the outside of the doors. He must have swiped over some sort of let in white panel (Man, why was everything white up here?), when he saw the doors open.

Well that was progress, but the silvery blue glow coming from his arm did freak him out. He pushed his jacket sleeve up as far as it would go, to be greeted by a fat zero glowing on his arm, through his skin. “What the hell?!” the man half yelled, as the glowing did not stop. No matter how he rubbed and poked it, it did not fade. But neither did it hurt or bother him.

Deciding this was again something he could freak out about later, he stepped into the elevator. Great, again no buttons. Is everything in this universe mind controlled? The doors slid close a moment later, and for a brief second panic and claustrophobia took over. But as quickly as the doors had closed, they opened again. Dean hadn’t even felt the damn thing move. But what would you expect in heaven, when this whole thing was powered by like God mojo.

 

Another long corridor stretched out in front of him. A T-shaped one actually. Again, endless doors, endless Enochian somethings. But he could see at the very end of the corridor, someone sat, at an actual desk. Without having any further clues, not like he really knew what he was doing here, he walked down the corridor.

 

Barely noticing how the doors changed to his left, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and walked backwards. These weren’t heavens of people, nor were there white walls.

There was a door, with a control panel and besides it a 6 feet broad window. Of course, curiosity killed the cat and Dean took a look to see what hid behind the glass.

What he witnessed then drew the look of sheer horror and disgust on his face. There sat a person, a very deformed person. Or rather angel. The guy wore pants as he sat on a stool with a knee pulled up to his chest. Once Dean had approached the glass, the angel looked up, but then the man realized, that angel, that thing, could not see. Little wings grew out of his eyes, his damn eyes. He was trying to say something, but when he spoke only a long black tongue came out of his mouth, trying to form words.

Staggering back, he heaved, staring at the glass of what seemed to be a laboratory. “Son of a bitch…” And he had nothing better to say in this moment, as he was shocked. Even heaven seemed to have skeletons in the closet. That sick son of a bitch, Chuck. But considering before humans, he had made angels, and before those the firsts beasts; this should not come so surprising to Dean. Even for God it seemed to have been trial and error.

Gathering himself again, willing his breathing to slow down he walked to the door to read the plate screwed to it. Damn it, it was in Enochian. But if Dean squinted and focused long enough it seemed to suddenly appear in English.

“Subject 1031. Batch 562. Only surviving subject. Blind. Unable to speak. Left for further studying. Not hostile”

 

Maybe for humans, heaven was actually heaven but this poor bastard didn’t deserve this. His being radiated depression, fear and sadness. His father had not loved him. He had never stood in the light of God’s presence. It wasn’t easy to get Dean’s pity but he was so tempted to get into that room and end his misery. He would even soothe and hold him while he took his life. Anything must be better than feeling alone and cold, for eternity.

 

But he knew this was not his problem to deal with. He knew it were not his responsibilities nor was it his decision to make. Maybe he pitied the thing because he saw himself in it.

With slight nausea having settled into his stomach he kept walking. He did not look at the other labs, he just didn’t. Until he heard muffled yelling and something crashing against the window. It was a dull contact as the labs, or rather cells had been built to hold the angel experiments. This time the hunter had to look. He had gotten started and jumped slightly. But if he had thought that what he had seen before was a horror or an abomination, this topped the list.

What had supposed to be an angel, was a creature with four heads and three arms. Two lanky thin and long arms, one strong thick one with blue veins all over its body. The heads had not grown besides each other but one to the front, one left, right and to the back. They resembled deformed heads of animals. One sort of looked like a hawk, one like a big cat, a bear and a snake. They all fought for dominance as the creature kept banging into the walls, against the glass, probably absolutely disoriented and aggressive due to the many pairs of eyes.

“Subject 387. Batch 54. Least hostile subject of batch. Mute. Deaf. Sensual overload. Enter with extreme caution.”

 

If this was nearly Chuck’s 400th try to create an angel, he did not want to see one of the first ones. As he kept walking the images passing his peripheral vision only got worse and worse. The deformations only seemed to get more and more horrifying. Some were barely alive, hooked up to tubes. Some could not walk but crawled. The further he went the less of bodies he saw, but masses of cells until all he found was screaming bright grace filling a room. By then he was running towards the desk.

 

But it wasn’t only the bile rising in his throat that made him run, but also a weird pull he felt. Not on his arm or anywhere, but in his core, like something tugged on his entire being.

Once he reached the desk he was greeted by a man of color. He wore a white short beard on his chin and around his lips in contrast to his skin color. He barely glanced at him, but smiled faintly and gave him a nod. At first the door did not want to open as Dean pushed at it, but then he held his right arm up to where that panel by the elevator door had been. Something clicked and the door fell ajar.  Stepping in, the door closed behind him and the hunter felt immediately trapped, reaching for the angel blade in his jacket. But then the lights turned on and Dean realized the ceiling was high, very high. Like in a warehouse with shelves at least one if not two stories high. They were filled with glass jars that glowed faintly.

 

* * *

 

 

_Huh, what was that? Something is different._

_Is that a soul roaming the corridors of heaven? It is so bright and pulsing. It resembles Dean’s soul a lot. Hm, it is aimlessly going through heaven. Maybe it is a lost soul. My brethren should take care of it._

_It is coming closer. It isn’t even that far anymore. But there is something odd about it. What is it doing here?_

_Wait, is that really… Did he come to find me? After everything, did he really come?_

_Dean? … Dean!_

* * *

 

The further Dean walked through what seemed to be the middle corridor between all the shelves that were at least thrice or four times as tall as him, the pull he felt in his gut got stronger. And so, he kept wandering. But there was nothing to indicate he was going the right direction even.

Once he had felt the pull, everything else had been forgotten.

 

Walking and walking, without tiring, he got frustrated though. And suddenly the feeling became weaker again. Aha! Maybe he should just let his gut, like so often, guide him.

Going back a few steps, the feeling became more urgent again and he peeked into a corridor between the shelves. This one should be as good as any, he told himself and wandered off into it. Thank God, the room was not as broad as it was long. But he could not locate what was pulling him closer. Passing the jars, he saw dim little silver lights. And all looked the same. He could not make out any differences between them, besides the different numbers and names on them. And they sure as hell were not sorted alphabetically. But again, by subject and batch numbers.

 

Taking a deep breath of frustration, he closed his eyes as he sighed. Then opened them again, just to close them once more. Interesting. It seemed that when he deprived himself of his vision he could see those lights on the inside of his eyelids. And there was one, faintly glowing a little brighter than the others.

Opening his eyes, he darted off, back into the middle corridor, running back a few shelves, just to go to the other side of the room next. Once his eyes closed and he stood still, he realized the glowing was closer, it flickered just the slightest. He walked another shelf back and now he could see it with his eyes. Tucked away in a half dark corner, the light over the shelf broken, he could see a little blue and silver flame lick against the glass. With a bit of hesitation, he walked over, reading the plate under it.

“Subject 18,975,533-F. Batch 103,520. Castiel.”

 

His heart and stomach were on a rollercoaster right now and he had the hardest time not to sob and break out into a chick-flick cry fit. Without having realized he was panting hard, not able to believe what he saw. And then it dawned on him. Especially since he read the plate under the jar further. He had been catalogued only a few days earlier, the day of Claire’s death. Because when a human had once been an angel’s vessel, a little bit of grace was always left behind.

Carefully Dean reached out, touching the glass and immediately saw and even felt the flame become a little brighter, dancing happily and snugging itself against the glass.

“Oh Cas…” Dean whispered. “It’s been a long while, buddy. Hasn’t it?” His voice was close to betraying him, already breaking.

He sure as hell would not leave the angel here to rot, even if this was only his essence. But it was more than he could have ever hoped for.

“Cas, we are going home.” Picking up the jar, he marched the way back he had come from, carrying what was left of the angel close to his heart, in his arms. As if he was protecting the biggest treasure a man could ever find.

 

The whole reason he had come here for had been forgotten. This was more important. This was more than he could have ever dreamed for. Claire, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Pamela, Sam and even Jess were happy here. They would get to spend eternity like that. Dean would make sure of it. He would fight tooth and nail to make sure of it. But he had always thought Cas had simply ceased to exist. That he had turned into nothing. But he hadn’t. Here he was, holding the last remnants of his best friend. Of the one who had raised him from perdition, put everything on the line for him. The one who had in the end, always stood by him and had his back. This was the least the man could do for him.

 

Leaving the same way he came, he stopped at some point though. “Hold on Cas. We need to make a little stop, okay buddy? It’ll only take a minute.”

He was again at the labs, again Subject 1031. But this time he unlocked the door, carefully putting the jar Cas’ grace resided in down on a table close to the door.

The deformed angel turned his head to him, probably being able to sense him though he was blind and mute. Softly, the hunter spoke to him then: “Hey. I am not going to hurt you.” Dean said approaching the angel. “But I know you are suffering.” And even though the man was half freaking out he put a hand on the angel’s arm. The creature nearly snuggled into his touch, faintly smiling. “I will put you out of your misery if you want me to though.” For whatever reason, Dean knew the being in front of him understood him. Even if Dean had said nothing, he knew on a hunch, that the angel experiment would have understood him. And simply nodded.

 

Standing beside the creature, Dean cradled it to his chest, slowly pulling the angel blade from his jacket. Carefully he pushed the tip over the angel’s heart, for which he again got a nod. It happened quick and mercifully, Dean plunging the tip through its ribs into the heart of what was supposed to be an angel. A white light erupted in the room. But Dean looked, watching the grace leave the body. The hunter even pet the angel’s dark brown hair, which reminded him of Cas’. As he laid the body down carefully, he felt a gust of warmth curl around his being, transferring the feeling onto him, speaking of gratefulness and mercy before it left and dissolved into the walls of the room.

 

“Okay, Cas. Now we are really going home.”

 

Background music: AC/DC – Back in Black // Cutting Crew – I just died in your arms tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter since I had envisioned it for so long. Even though the angel experiment part made me slightly nauseaous...  
> The next one might take a while. I know what I want to happen, or the end n start but usually it is hard at times to get from A to B. I tend to write around 5000 words, but during the last two chapters I pretty much broke that rule...
> 
> Again, **comments & kudos** are love, motivation and carrots for the plot bunnies!


	9. Free Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has found Castiel and brought him back home with him. Their reunion does not go without complications and a little grief though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fresh off the keyboard. Started out tonight some hours ago with around 2500 words... ended up with 7600+... Why do I do this to myself every time?!
> 
> I betaed this part myself, so any mistakes or parts seeming hard to read, are my own fault. Please inform me about them so I can correct them!
> 
>  **Warnings for:**  
>  Blood  
> Sexual language (I went a little all out when Dean thought about his sexuality)
> 
> Banner says it all again. I am too obvious with these things...

    Dean had only been away a few feet from the kitchen to bring out the trash, when a white light erupted from the kitchen. And then he heard glass break.

    No. No, no, no, no, Dean chanted over and over in his mind when he ran back to the kitchen, staring at the table, staring at the broken jar, in which Cas’ grace had been stored in.

 

* * *

  

_One month earlier._

 

    Dean had forgotten when he had been this cheerful and chipper the last time. Even if he partially felt like a lunatic. He had put the jar into the front seat of the Impala, secured it with his duffels and other heavy luggage he had, so it wouldn’t roll off, drop or even break, God forbid!

    Once he had left heaven, none of the angels questioned him, nor did they ask where he was going with the grace. But he knew they had questions burning on their tongues. He knew now they saw him as the archangel Michael, but Dean wasn’t their commander, not the general of the heavenly host. Besides, truth to be told, he could barely get his own shit straight, how should he govern heaven? Joshua seemed to do a good job and he would rather have heaven in the hands of the gardener of the Garden of Eden, than some power-hungry douchebag archangel, who was trying to push his idea of heaven and what God would have wanted, onto the rest of them. Thanks, but no thanks. But they would have to have a talk about the experiments one day… But that was one day.

    What was important, was that he had Cas back.

 

    Humming to a random song that came from the car’s cassette deck, he put one of his hands on the silver lid of the jar, practically humming the song directly to his friend, fingertips softly tapping along to the drums onto the lid. For whatever reason, he had thought Cas would like the view out of the window. But maybe Dean had put him into the front seat to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating and that Cas was really there. And Dean knew it wasn’t some different, random angel. He knew it was Castiel, there was no doubt about it.

 

    The days seemed to blur a little together at first, with Dean not really knowing what to do with Cas. There was no way in hell he would open the jar, even though, it had two silver lids. Looked even quite fancy, since it was some kind of brushed metal. Who knew if it was silver?

    Castiel had no vessel anymore so he couldn’t just come back to Dean, nor could he probably tell Dean to find him a new one, or do so himself. “So, this is how it’s gonna be from now on, hm?”

 

    At some point, Dean just started to talk to him. As if the angel was sitting there. He spoke about the weather, or what he thought of eating today. Cas spot seemed to become the kitchen table, since besides the couch, Dean spent the most time here.

    The hunter knew he wasn’t hallucinating or going crazy as he could see the flame inside moving quicker or getting brighter whenever he spoke to Cas. Yet alone touched the glass. And by now he took him pretty much everywhere with him. When Dean cooked, Cas was close by on the counter, but safely tucked away. The hunter couldn’t risk breaking the container the grace was in.

    When Dean went outside to tinker with the Imapala, since it had stood so long in the barn, Cas sat on his workbench between his tools. One time, he even got some motor oil on him, chuckling before wiping him clean with a rag: “Oops, sorry buddy. Happens.”

 

    Even though the angel wasn’t anything else than his pure essence in a container, Dean was happy. Yes, he was happy. Even though he knew, he would never again get a reply, never hear that gravelly voice rumble again, never going to hear Cas say his name like that again. But he could feel the angel’s presence around him. And that just soothed him, calmed his soul. For a moment, he thought he remembered the seraph rescuing him from hell.

    All the time Dean spent with Castiel like this, he kept talking to him. Man, Dean had never been a talker but right now he was rambling. All day, every day. He even tried to imitate Cas voice saying his name and for a moment he thought he saw the flame stop moving, just to flicker in annoyance. It made him laugh.

 

_That is not what my voice sounds like, Dean._

 

    He even took the jar with him to bed. No, he didn’t cuddle it, but it stood on his bedside table. Basically, Dean never let Cas out of his sight. He was his treasure, his most prized possession (even if he didn’t really own him). He might not utter these words loudly to anyone, but Cas was more important than the Impala to him. Cas had become Dean’s lifeline, and that little flicker of light, represented his hope and happiness not to spend eternity on his own.

    Sleeping with an ever-present flame by your bed was hard though, so when it was sleep time, Dean would throw a cloth over Cas’ jar, just like one would do with a parrot in a cage.

    “I guess you are my little birdie now, hm? Angel and now a bird. Not too far apart. Yeah, I know angels have nothing to do with birds, but humor me a bit, man. Will ya?”

 

_I am not a bird! But since you let me stay with you, though I can’t do anything for you, I shall… humor you as you say._

 

    With Cas around now, Dean took to his usual habit of sleeping again. He pretty much forced himself to sleep, yes. But it made it easier for him to deal. Otherwise time became such an unknown and fluid concept to him, 100 years might even pass while he only batted his eyelashes once. It was easier to sleep now again though. Maybe it was the little light that shone through the cloth he had put over the jar, that put him to rest, or it was the slight buzz, the slight hum he was sure he heard then, that lulled him into a nightmare-less and peaceful sleep.

 

    The next day Dean tinkered around with the Impala again, changing her oil, cleaning her ignition plugs, filling up her antifreeze mix too. Just taking good care of the old gal.

    For lunch, he had a sandwich and once dinner time rolled around, the man packed up his things, going back inside. He left Cas in the kitchen because the bathroom was the only room Dean didn’t take Cas with him to.

 

    Dean had some leftover bean and meat stew from yesterday, which he ate with some bread for dinner. It was uneventful, but while chewing he mused to the angel: “I remember this little crab shack at the Jersey coast.” He paused for a moment, eating the rest of his stew. “Man Cas, don’t tell anyone but my appetite for food goes beyond fried stuff, beef jerky and pie. But pie is heaven, just for the record. But yeah, I would want to eat prawns and crab from there. Something else than road food for once, you know?”

    He wasn’t in the mood to actually clean up already so he pushed the plate aside, folding his arms on the table, his chin on them and looked at Cas. He reached out after a while, touching the glass with a finger, before smiling as he saw the flame dance close and lick at the glass where he touched it.

    “I miss you too, Cas.”, the hunter whispered, watching the flame, yawning suddenly. Seemed like a dire case of food coma, so he didn’t really question his sudden sleepiness. Though since when did he need sleep again? Also since when was there a little electric current passing between his finger and the glass? He was too tired to be bothered right now though.

    With his fingers around the jar he fell asleep.

    What Dean didn’t notice was that the flame became brighter and filled more of the glass, once he woke up an hour later, groaning and stretching.

 

    This continued for a while. Cas and Dean were pretty much attached by the hip. It might seem one sided, but it was enough for Dean. He wasn’t alone anymore. And the little flame kept on growing.

 

    But then the incident with the broken glass happened. And it was Stull Cemetery for Dean all over again. He could do nothing else but look on as everything fell apart again. For the first hours he believed that maybe, magically, the glass would mend itself back together and Cas would return.

    But for the next three days nothing happened. And so, Dean cleaned up the glass and threw it into the trash.

 

    The whole next week nothing happened.

 

    When the second week started, Dean gave up the waiting. His heart didn’t want to let go, but his mind told him that Cas had left. There wasn’t anything to wait for anymore.

    He searched for reasons. Maybe the glass had become too small, or maybe he has been called away. But who should call him as he was no… full blown angel anymore. And the whole grace of an angel fit into a tiny vial so the jar couldn’t have become too small.

    And then that treacherous voice from deep inside him came up and polluted his thoughts, with things like: Maybe you talked too much. Maybe he got bored with you. Maybe he does not want to stay. Maybe deep down he is happy he got rid of you finally.

 

    And he couldn’t let go of those thoughts, he just couldn’t.

    For another day, or two (he had no idea how long since he didn’t sleep again), Dean just sat around, staring at his TV, sipping on a bottle of Jack. Yes, right out of the bottle, no glass, nothing.

    A news report had caught his eye about freak murders and blood drained bodies. There were still vampires left? Good. Good for him, but bad for them. No matter if it was the middle of the night, he picked up his gear and got into his car. What better did he have left to do?

    He sat behind the steering wheel, rubbing his face as he sighed. At this rate, he would have to go back to heaven too, as he had no answers, and had dropped everything the moment he had found Cas.

 

    At first it was three vampires in Louisiana. Then it was a werewolf in Missouri. Two ghosts, a shapeshifter, a rougarou and another four vampires later, two weeks had passed. Keeping his hands dirty, keeping his mind on the job helped him. Going on like this, he might murder all supernatural beings in North America. And he didn’t care. When you had all the time in the universe, pain seemed like the biggest punishment there was. Because it would never go away. Maybe fade a little. And it had with Jody and Claire, and then even more when he had found Castiel again. But it had just all come back with a vengeance. In a Winchester’s life a good thing happened, just to be followed by double as much bad. That seemed to be the rule. For whatever he had ever gotten back, it was either just a question of time until it would be taken away once more, or what else he would have to sacrifice, lose or let happen in order to keep it. But seemingly this time around that choice had been taken from him.

 

    In the last two weeks, he had not stopped by his house for supplies or anything of that sort. Not even clothes. But now the hunter realized he was running low on ammunition. The blades needed to be sharpened again too.

    He planned to stay for a night, get his gear sorted out and move out to find the next job. This was his house, his home, but it felt tainted by now. Not by Castiel’s presence and that it was gone now. But simply by its absence. But Dean knew by now, that running away had not been the smartest thing to do. Because no matter where he went by now, his emotional and psychological baggage would just follow him. He couldn’t outrun himself, not his mind, neither his heart. He couldn’t drink, shoot or kill it away. It was a part of him. The same with that angel grace Michael had somehow transferred onto him. Seemingly the archangels very own grace, because nobody in heaven had questioned him, his motives or intentions. They just let him pass, mindlessly following his orders and requests. So that was how absolute obedience felt like. Dean decided he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t like it since he had outgrown the shadow his father had cast over him, the one he had still cast over him after he man had died. Being a soldier had to do with honor and a cause for him, but not with blind obedience and not using one’s own mind. In the end, it was what made Castiel fall it seemed. Dean had rubbed off so much on the angel, that he had chosen to cut all ties with heaven in order to fight for his cause. It was up to each person themselves to follow their heart, to do what they believed in. Castiel had believed in God, Dean knew he did. All angels had believed their father had one big plan laid out for them, but in the end, God just had pulled out of the whole family ordeal and left them to fend for themselves. Not in a way of: oh, I am tired of all of you. But in a way, that said: you need to grow up, flourish and prosper.

 

    Castiel definitely had flourished. He had gotten to know more than just obedience and not doubting. He had gotten to know himself, what made him who he was. And that was not just by the definition of being an angel. He had gotten to know how petty it was to be a human, but it also made him have respect for his father’s creation. Even so fragile, complicated and driven by their emotions, humans didn’t stand down, they didn’t just give up and lay down to die. Even if the fight seemed lost, they would still take a stance. Maybe they didn’t believe so much in God than they believed in themselves, in love, in family, loyalty and cause.

    Castiel had always thought he knew what loyalty was. But he was taught better by Dean. Loyalty was a choice, not an obligation. Even if it brought bad blood and the loss of people who you used to call friends or peers, with it.

    All Dean was afraid of at this point, was that Castiel regretted. That he regretted pulling him from hell, that he regretted he was the angel who laid a hand on him. That he regretted having rebelled, having doubted, having taken a stance. That he simply regretted knowing Dean Winchester.

 

    But Dean told himself to let that thought go. He tried really hard as he stood under the shower, washing off the blood and dirt of the last two days. Maybe he even scrubbed himself a little harder than necessary; his anger and pain usually turning itself against him in the end. His torn and bloodied shirt had gone in the trash and his pants would need a good wash and some special treatment to get the stains out.

    Once clean and the Impala stocked on salt, holy water and ammunition, he sat on the couch and started to clean his guns at the coffee table. He even ran a timer to see how quickly he could pick them apart and put them back together, just like a soldier. Once somewhat satisfied with the time he needed, he started to sharpen the knives. He was out of Jack Daniels for the night and had no intention to go into town and pick up some more, so he stuck to beer, a rerun of some football game on TV.

 

    And then it started with a weird feeling, a buzz, foreign, yet know. And then the buzzing turned into an oncoming presence before the typical sound of wings rustling could be heard.

 

    “Dean.”

 

    And it was that gravelly voice speaking to him. That voice that belonged to one single person in the entire universe. His eyes immediately closed, trying to hold onto, what he thought, was a figment of his imagination.

    You are hallucinating. Scrubbed too hard, drank too much, inhaled too much gunpowder – he told himself, afraid to turn his head. But as the presence he felt didn’t leave, and he heard the intake of lungs for air, which were not his own, he turned his head with his eyes open.

    And there he stood, disheveled hair, tie on the wrong way, his tan coat hanging off him a size too big. The ill-fitting suit that made him look bigger and bulkier than he really was, was there too.

    Intense ocean blue eyes looked at the hunter in confusion, probably asking himself if Dean had not heard him. Only now Dean realized, he had held his breath the whole time.

    The expression on the hunter’s face could only be described as one of utter disbelief, the man then jumping to his feet. He didn’t know if to attack the other man, run away or just stand there frozen in awe. But he knew, deep inside he knew, it was Cas. There was no other angel, no demon, no shapeshifter or any other thing on this planet that could trick him into thinking they were Cas. It was the angel. His angel.

 

    “Cas?” Dean asked, carefully, still not buying the whole situation, as the who and when and definitely how, were too big for the man yet to understand.

    “Yes, Dean.” The angel spoke, with his usual nonchalance, not totally understanding the other man’s surprise.

    “Holy mother of God!” Dean walked over to him, grabbing his face, like he had always used to do with his brother to make sure it was really him.

    To that Cas only tilted his head in confusion. “Dean, I don’t think God actually has a mother. Nor would she be holy.” He didn’t even bat an eyelash at that statement, not even a smile on his lips. Castiel was completely serious about the matter.

    And suddenly loud and heartfelt laughter erupted from Dean before he pulled Castiel into his arms by the neck, hugging him close to himself. “It really is you!” Dean exclaimed, his whole face having lit up, and a smile finally reaching his eyes again after so many years. It was like all the angels in the heavenly host suddenly sang Hallelujah to him when that radiant, bright and unbelievable presence that was Castiel filled his house.

    “What… how, Cas?” he asked as he took a step back, since the hug had lasted longer than he had intended, no matter how happy he was to have his best friend in the whole universe back.

    “I will tell you over a meal.” The angel said a little sheepishly, and then, just then, Dean realized that trench coated man was holding two bags filled with food, from that crab shack from the Jersey coast.

 

* * *

 

 

    “So, let me get this straight,” Dean said as he nipped on another beer, his stomach full from all the prawns and crab meat with sides. “You are seriously telling me that once I grabbed you from heaven, I transferred my grace, which I got from Michael, onto you?” Dean asked in disbelief.

    “Yes and no.” Castiel answered, looking skeptically at his own beer. It was quite a sight to see the angel with a bottle of those, Dean had to admit. Uncommon but also feeling like home to the hunter.

    “You didn’t transfer it, you were more like charging me.”

    “Like a battery?” Dean put the bottle down.

    “I am not a battery, nor is my grace, but I think the analogy fits.”

    “But how come I even found you? It was like you were talking to me, calling me, pulling me in? Besides how did I even recharge you? That never happened before. And how did you get your body back?!” Right now, the hunter was just trying to weed through all the information and make sense of it, while he was leaning back in his chair.

    “When Claire died, I felt like waking up from a long sleep. The bit of grace I had left in her when I had used her as a vessel for a short amount of time was too weak, too dormant to take over her consciousness. Nor did I have permission. Once she died, I was released and returned to heaven immediately.” Castiel spoke calmly, looking Dean in the eyes, piercingly as if it was normal for humans to look like that at each other. “I was stored away, but the moment you entered heaven… At first I thought you were a lost soul, roaming the corridors, but I will never forget how bright your soul is. How much it pulses and how restless it is.”

    Those words felt weirdly intimate and Dean had to clear his throat.

    “But I did call out for you. And I saw Michael’s grace come closer and closer to me. For a moment, I was afraid it was my brother, that you had said yes to him after all. But if that was the truth your soul would have been asleep. But both grace and soul seem to coexist inside of you. Once you brought me to earth from heaven, once you had spoken to me I knew it wasn’t my brother, but it was you.” He let those words linger, before continuing, the angel looking out of the kitchen window by the table then. It was dark outside, barely any lights to be seen besides the stars.

    “The only reason I can explain how you recharged me, is that grace and soul cohabitating one vessel, though it is not really a vessel in your case, anyways, grace and soul in one body, in tune, is like a lightbulb hooked up to a nuclear reactor. And once I was at full capacity I broke out… and searched all planes of existence in the universe for the atoms that made this body… it took a while, I am sorry. I didn’t want to bring you grief.” Castiel explained in the best way he knew, his voice soft and quiet. He wanted Dean to understand.

    “Are you saying I am something close to God?” The hunter didn’t know if to be happy or shocked, but the first feeling he had was rejection. He didn’t want that, he didn’t want so much power. “And yeah, next time leave me a memo.” There was a hint of jest in his tone.

    “No Dean… If you had been born this way, you might have been a Nephilim. Right now, I can’t really say what you are.” The angel squinted then, tilting his head slightly to the side again. “I do know though, that you are not using your grace to its full potential. It’s… locked up inside you.”

 

    Maybe it was better like that, Dean thought to himself as he got up to clean the table, avoiding the topic. His treacherous mind was yelling Abomination! at him again.

    Castiel too, stood after Dean got up. Not knowing what to do with himself, the angel just watched Dean rummage around the kitchen.

 

    “Dean.” He spoke to him then, drawing the other man’s attention on him. “What… do we do now?”

    The question threw Dean a little off, then the hunter remembered that Castiel was used to having a task, a mission. And so did Dean, pretty much.

    “You know, the last seven to eight years I haven’t really hunted. I was Jody’s deputy. I lived a life as a civilian. But then Claire got killed by a demon. And I picked up hunting again. So, I still gank some evil sons of bitches here and there. But not as obsessively as I did. Unless I am trying to cope with something.” Dean knew himself, he knew he liked to shove things deep down to keep going and not deal with them. Get his hands dirty and keep his mind from straying. And Castiel knew Dean did that, so why keep it a secret? Besides that, the angel probably knew him more than he would let on. He had rebuilt him once he had rescued him from hell, all those years ago.

    “But with you back… I just want to enjoy life a little, for once. The monsters will be there tomorrow too and I realized, the world kept spinning, Cas. Without me.” He threw the paper bags into the bin then. “I don’t have to devote all of my time and energy to it. Look what it made out of my life. Unless you want to return to heaven and I totally get it if you want to, you are welcome to stay as long as you want. This is my place now. I rebuilt it from the ruins it laid in. There is even a guest bedroom.” It was an honest offer and Dean actually would really like for Cas to stay, even if the reason was selfish. He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

 

    Castiel had felt that this house had been made with the hunter’s hands. Every bit of wood and stone, spoke of his touch. He could feel Dean all around him, and it made him quietly hum a tune as he wandered a bit, not answering Dean yet. He felt comfortable, at ease here. He knew he was protected; that they were protected.

    “That!” Dean pointed then at him, referring to the angel’s hum. “What is that? I know it. I felt it every night when I went to bed.” And he said felt, not heard. It was that buzz that had lulled him to sleep.

    “Oh this? I am just humming an old Enochian song I am fond of… I also hummed or well… sang it when you slept. Usually it keeps your nightmares at bay.” Castiel was more used to human behavior and intimacy now, so he looked away from Dean with an expression that looked a lot like shyness. Maybe even embarrassment.

    “You saying you sang to me? Like a lullaby?” For a moment, the expression of terror ran over the hunter’s face, because it was something that mothers did with their children usually, but not a grown ass man to the other.

    “I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable, knowing what it was. It has worked all those years though, when I watched over you while you slept.” The expression of shyness wasn’t leaving the angel’s face if it came to this topic.

    “No, hey… Um, Cas. It’s okay. It helped, really. I forgot what a good night’s sleep was, until I had you here with me again.” Enough with the chick-flick crap, Dean said to himself before grabbing another beer and handing it to the angel.

    “So if you want, you---“ for a moment there, the hunter paused. Their fingers had touched, like often enough before, but it felt a little weird. Like a tingle, a soft electric shock. Since nothing else happened in that moment, he shrugged it off, clearing his throat. “You can stay in the guest room, grab some of my clothes to be comfortable, if you want.”

    A moment and a chug of beer later, Cas looked over at Dean since his eyes had been wandering all over the kitchen, memorizing the placement of all the little things that filled the room.

    “Would you mind if I kept watching over you?” Castiel had decided to stay.

 

    Slightly taken aback at the question, Dean put his bottle down, leaning back against the counter of the kitchen. “I don’t need to sleep Cas. Neither do you. You can watch over me, if it makes you feel better, though it might be creepy as hell in the beginning… But I would prefer if you slept too.”

 

    No one had said anything about sharing a bed though.

 

    They had decided to call it a night a while later after their conversation. Dean had retreated to the bathroom to get changed as Cas was in his bedroom. Now the angel wasn’t just a jar anymore and Dean at times, but only at times, had manners. Even if he didn’t mind parading around in his birthday suit often enough, never one shy to present his muscled body, he would not do that with the angel around. Or when he knew for sure the angel could see him. It would just be... weird with Castiel watching.

    Before the hunter had left, he had put out an old washed out band shirt for Cas and a pair of slacks. Because there was no way in hell he would let the angel sleep in all those clothes, even though he knew the dark-haired man wasn’t bothered by it.

    Returning, Dean realized Cas had made his bed, besides the bed on the floor, making Dean frown. In the next moment he stood there, frozen, his mind going a million miles per hour.

 

    If Cas really wanted to sleep, he could use the comfort of the guestroom’s bed. But he knew the angel didn’t want to leave this room. And a part of Dean was thrilled with that thought, simply because he had been alone for such a long time; when on the contrary he had been used to constantly having his brother, or back then his father, around. Even in purgatory he had not been alone the whole time. This was the longest time he had ever been all alone. No one to share a room with, even a bed.

    And this was the thought his mind was circling. Should he invite Cas into his bed? It would be weird for two dudes, wouldn’t it? John Winchester’s parenting was coming through again. There were things guys didn’t do. Unless this was a life and death situation. But who was he kidding? He knew his father was dead, he knew he couldn’t watch him from heaven. Nor could any other relatives or friends of his. But what was he so afraid of? Judgement? Who was still there to judge him? And even if he let Cas willingly into his bed, and maybe he would even like the weight and warmth besides him… Whoever would judge him for that was A not his friend and didn’t care about him, B a homophobic grade A asshole.

    Which brought up the question: Was this… _homo_?

    It wasn’t like they were going to cuddle, make out or have sex, right? Not like Dean could even imagine that really. But who was he trying to fool?

    Yes, he liked women. God, no, wait: he adored them. With their soft boobs, curves, cushiony butts and long hair to pull on. But he knew his own sexuality was vast. He knew he had not only once looked at a dude in a bar or on the street and thought that he looked good, even thought he was attractive. Usually he would think: If I was a chick I would so hit that. But truth to be told: Dean knew he had that side in him. He had gotten so shitfaced in his mid-20s at times, with Sam at Stanford and dad hunting on his own, that there had been messy cubicle kisses and some dry rutting, with another guy. And not only one. And it didn’t always stay at rutting. But hand jobs were the furthest he would go. Though he hadn’t said no when a dude went down on him. At first, he tried to tell himself it was a chick with short hair, but the noises and the broadness of the shoulders couldn’t fool him. No matter how hard he tried to fool himself.

    But he came as hard, as he would have with a woman back then. The lips were just as soft, and stubble against his thighs didn’t bother him one bit. And a voice in his mind had always said that a dude knew what another dude wanted.

    He might not admit it, but not only once had he clicked on gay porn. And even though it might not be the best educational source, he knew how the mechanics of that worked. The man had been afraid it might throw him off, disgust him, but that always just came down to the kind of porn you watched and not who did it with who, he realized soon after. And besides, at times he asked himself where the big difference was between gay sex and doing it anal with a woman? Sure, with one there was dangly bits down there, with the other less dangly but round and soft cushions up top.

 

    Dean had just always kept his sexcapades to himself. And once he was out hunting with Sam again, most of his experimental phase was over. He might be a hardhead, but he was far from being close-minded and stuck up.

    After living in that body for nearly 50 years by now, 38 when Michael had infused him with his grace plus the last 8 years, equaled 46, he just knew himself too well. He liked to be ridden, lay on his back, let a girl take over. He had even liked those satiny panties as a teenager, hugging his ass tightly, squeezing his cock in the right way, presenting the outlines to the girl. It had worked on her. The feeling of the fabric hadn’t been bad either.

 

    Even though he posed as the hard, macho hunter with a gruff voice in a leather jacket and a muscle car, everyone who spent some time around Dean knew, he was soft as butter on the inside. He had just forged himself layers upon layers of armor to protect the sensitivity, the care and love that laid on the inside of him. And to Castiel, those layers of armor had never existed though. The blond knew that by now. Castiel had always been able to see right through him and not be thrown off by all the attitude, aggression and gruffness. Those were the moments Dean felt awkward, naked and slightly unnerved. He could protect himself from anyone trying to look right through him, but not from Cas.

 

    Bottom line was: Dean was never one to deny himself anything he might enjoy. And this was just an innocent sharing of a king-sized bed, right? There was enough room for both of them. Without getting too close to each other. Cas was his friend and not some hookup from a bar, after all.

 

    “Cas, don’t be ridiculous. Get off the floor and get into bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

    Satisfied with his sleep, Dean woke up the next morning. And then suddenly panic settled in when he realized he was laying against someone. And that someone, was his best friend, or rather his best friend’s back. He couldn’t believe he was sort of spooning the angel, with an arm thrown around his waist. He must have moved in his sleep, or rather both of them, to end up in this position. But what he noticed in the next moment was that Castiel was indeed sleeping. That eased his mind a bit and let him contemplate his next move. Or the next move he thought was necessary.

    While doing so, he realized, he was actually touching the other’s skin, but there was no feeling of bile rising up in his throat.

    Some time ago he had come behind the mystery of that feeling. When Jody suddenly had the flu and he had given her a hug, he had gotten the same feeling, even though before he had felt nothing when he touched her. It was like his body, no, his grace was screaming at him, saying: that person is sick, unclean.

    With Cas, it was a totally different story though. Even though the angel didn’t sing to him, he felt a soft hum, as if they were two instruments, coming into tune at the same frequency finally. It was warm and pleasant. For a moment there, Dean was close to nodding off, not having moved an inch since he woke up. But once Castiel moved slightly, first signs of waking up, Dean’s eyes snapped back open, before deep blue ones looked into his.

    The moment was a little awkward, and Castiel could sense that. He had spent enough time with humans, especially with Dean, so that he knew the hunter was most probably bothered by their close physical proximity. With that thought, the angel turned on his back, moving a little out of Dean’s hold. Of course, Dean immediately retracted his arm, greeting the angel with a rumble of: good morning – and – gonna go make breakfast.

 

    Half way darting out of bed and to the bathroom, he went about his morning routine quietly, splashing cold water a few more times than usually into his face. He didn’t bother shaving as much as he had used to, having grown a nicely trimmed beard for the most part. In a pair of socks and still in his sleepwear, he padded down to the kitchen and set up a pot of coffee to brew. He stretched and yawned before opening a window, greeted by warm sunshine. Even if his awakening had been weird this morning, he felt genuinely well rested and chipper. Instead of toast there would be pancakes this morning, along with bacon and eggs. And no, he wasn’t doing this as a little celebratory welcome for the angel.

 

    Apropos the angel. He soon enough heard bare footsteps coming down the stairs, Castiel still in an old grey washed out Van Halen t-shirt and a pair of dark blue slacks. The sight was uncommon and Dean realized that he stared for a moment, realizing how slim, but lean muscled his friend was.

    Following the scent curiously, Castiel sat down at the table once in the kitchen, stifling a yawn. Just the fact that the angel was yawning, had Dean chuckle as he placed a cup of coffee down in front of his friend, already sipping on his own. He had to tend to the pancakes and eggs but that didn’t keep him from striking up a casual morning conversation.

    “Morning sunshine. Slept well?” The hunter asked with a smirk playing on his lips. The angel’s usual dark messy hair was extra messy today. If there was a picture in the dictionary besides the word bedhead, or more like picture in urbandictionary.com, it would be a photograph taken of Cas right in that moment.

    “Sleep is a weird thing. It is sort of frightening to lose conscience and be so helpless for such a long while, but once you wake up the effect is refreshing and rejuvenating.” Castiel answered in his typical analytic angel manner, holding the mug of coffee, before helping himself to a little sugar, sipping on the hot beverage next.

    “Yeah and it lets you keep a better track of time. At least if you were human once. The days blur less together for me then. But now my friend, you need your coffee to really come out of your slumber.” Dean said before handing Castiel a nicely stacked plate full of food, along with syrup, fork and knife. And there it was again, that slight tingle, the electrical current that seemed to pass between them. Judging by Castiel’s momentary frozen expression, he felt it too. But both of them left the moment uncommented.

    “Enjoy yourself. I’ll join you in a moment.” With the slight rustling sound of the last pancake sliding out of the pan, Dean took a seat opposite of Cas with his own serving, waiting for it to slightly cool. He probably couldn’t burn his mouth while having grace, but he would not risk it. Even if he had that so-called gift, he was sticking to his human ways. Not like he knew how to consciously use it anyway. It usually just burst out of him without prior notice or warning.

 

    As if he could sense his slight worry and distress, Cas looked up from his plate, mouth full of pancakes when looking at Dean. He had the courtesy to swallow before speaking though: “Is there something bothering you, Dean? You seem… worried.”

    These were the moments Dean hated how observing Cas was, because he put him right there on the spot.

    And so, he was cornered, sighing, he just decided to share his worry for once. “You know, at times I have these thoughts about the grace. Like can you burn your mouth while you have grace? And then I just stick to what I know as a human. I don’t try to experiment with it. I can’t control it anyway.” He finally picked up some food and started to chew on it with a hum. “All of this mess is my fault anyway.”

    Dean added, a frown then showing up on Castiel’s face, the angel immediately wanting to tell the hunter it wasn’t like that. It was just one of a billion possible outcomes for this certain day. Since every decision made, led to another future. There were just some key moments that would never change. Like Dean killing Lucifer and Michael taking revenge on him.

    “If I had not iced Lucifer, no one might have died. If I had not decided to stay in Sioux Falls, declined Jody’s offer, Claire would not be dead now. And all of this, because that damn Crowley had to find me and sent out his goons.” He grunted in the next moment, the memories coming back, like a movie playing in front of his inner eye and then he felt himself grab his fork and knife too tightly. Dean felt a force, a power within himself start to buzz, revolt and grow, wanting to get out. He was angry. He was hella angry. And these were usually the moments his vision turned white, literally.

    Quickly getting up from the chair he turned his back to Castiel and grabbed onto the sink again like that night two months ago. A bulb in the ceiling lamp of the kitchen burst and the angel looked up in surprise, not having imagined that Dean’s grace was so powerful. And the more he got upset, the more amped up his grace became, the more evident it became. So evident, Castiel withheld a loud gasp when he saw the outline of six archangel wings sprout from Dean’s back. They were rustling and twitching in rage. They weren’t physical, but just shadows, outlines of his grace he could see simply because he was an angel too.

 

    Castiel did the only thing he knew to do and got up, putting a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder. The same shoulder he had touched when he had pulled him out of hell. The hunter was heaving, but starting to calm down from the simple and known touch, finally able to face Castiel again. But what he saw had him take a step back in awe, surprise and maybe a little fear.

    He too could see the outlines of Castiel’s wings and it had the man dumbstruck right on the spot. But he had known Cas had wings, but he had not imagined his vessel filled till the brim with grace, buzzing around him in a blue silver light. It was as if there was a blue shadow cast on the angel that moved along with him with slight asynchrony. Like it was half a second too late and floated. But the biggest shock was that the seraph had four heads. Four freakin’ heads! One looked like a raven, the other like a wolf, a horse… and then there was one resembling a lizard?

 

    Castiel watched the shock on the man’s face, knowing he too probably could see outlines of his true self, once his grace suddenly had turned from a flicker to a scorching hot flame. Such an outburst, with unsealed grace might have levelled the whole house. By now the angel knew he would have to teach his friend to control himself better, control the grace inside of him better. Especially if he would ever use his grace to its full potential, or intended to do so.

    His gaze strayed from Dean to behind him then, watching his magnificent six wings that filled nearly all of the kitchen. What Dean seemed to be oblivious to though, was that his wings were moving towards Castiel. His primary feathers pointing to the angel, curling towards him, as if they were reaching out to him, longing. And as Castiel looked to his own sides, he could see his own wings doing the same.

    He knew what that meant. And now he looked as shocked and dumbstruck as the hunter. Willing them to fold tightly against his back, he willed them from this plane of existence quickly after the realization, Dean’s own ones starting to disappear too, since his grace was calming enough to be barely detectable now.

 

    This should definitely not be happening to them.

 

Background music: Roxette – It must have been love // Def Leppard – Bringin’ on the Heartbreak // Cinderella – Nobody’s fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first this chapter was hard to write with the time jumps, but once Castiel is back it was easy as apple pie.  
> Why did this chapter turn out so long again?! I guess I just go where the story takes me. Can't stop in the middle or post not even 3000 measly words.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! There will be more Dean and Cas in the next chapter and they will grow closer.
> 
>  **Kudos & Comments** with your thoughts, praise, criticism and questions are very welcome! Keep 'em coming peeps! Love your opinions n insights!
> 
> See you next chapter!  
> For teasers, please visit my [tumblr](http://rocktapes.tumblr.com). If you want I can hand you guys out my e-mail if you have questions or ideas!


	10. Fluttering (of the heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel convinces himself in the end to tell Dean what he observed the day he saw his wings. Of course the hunter is not too happy with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies. This time a chapter with 7610 words. Betaed by the lovely [The_Scheming_Turtle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Scheming_Turtle/pseuds/The_Scheming_Turtle)
> 
> This chapter NO WARNINGS :0

  


    A few days had passed since the incident in the kitchen. A few days where Castiel closely observed their behavior toward each other.

    A few days, where in the mornings they usually woke up cuddling, limbs entangled, their bodies closer than they were supposed to be. At first it was quite awkward, but as it kept happening, both of them got a bit more used to it. Instead of reacting with panic and drawing himself away quickly, Dean started to laugh and smile whenever he woke up and he was pressed up against Castiel’s side. He had apologized and told the angel he had no idea how it happened. But Castiel knew how and why, but kept quiet about it.

    With what he had seen in their wings, he knew when they were not in control of their bodies, not conscious, the instinct and yearning of their graces for each other took over.

    That was what he had seen. Their grace yearning, longing for each other, wanting to mingle and… bond. The wings had wanted to mesh feathers and cocoon each other. At least that was what Castiel realized he felt, when he had observed their angelic appendages move towards each other. But he was careful, he tried not to get close physically to the other since that moment again.

    But with each passing day it became harder. Especially since with every touch, every physical contact they shared, the bond was growing. And it was a pleasant feeling. One so pleasant it was so tempting to just give in, dive right into it and seal the bond.

 

    But the angel did not understand how it really happened. He could only speculate. It probably had to do with Dean charging the little leftovers of his grace with his own. That must be when the bond had started forming. But that did not happen without a reason.

 

    Which brought him to the question if he had that kind of feelings towards the hunter.

 

    All he had ever known was the love he had for his father. And he knew sexual attraction. But honest, romantic feelings? He had never given a thought about them. Nor did he really know how it felt.

    He would have to admit though that ever since he had been given the mission to rescue the righteous man from hell, he had felt drawn to him. Maybe that was the reason why had stuck around for so long, why he had put so much on the line, betrayed his brethren, found free will. Ever since he had laid eyes, no, sensed the other man’s soul, he couldn’t stop. It had been like a golden shining beacon in the deepest, darkest depths of hell, calling out to him. Even if Dean had been doing what he had to do in order to flee from the pain, from the torture, his soul was resilient. After so many years in hell, any other soul might have been so dirty and darkened that it would be beyond repair. But his was twisting in anguish, shining brighter than any other as it screamed. Even if it was on its last breaths, hurt and wounded, trying to fight off the dark that was trying to engulf it.

 

    The moment the angel had pulled it from hell, he might have indeed been lost. It was then when he at first understood his father. How he could love his creation so much without boundaries. Dean Winchester’s scared and shaking soul in his arms, made him feel warmth and love for the first time as he rescued it and tried to soothe it. A passionate, all devouring love. Not the cold and stoic loyalty he had for his brothers and sisters. This was a different kind of feeling, a different sensation.

    If Castiel had known how it felt to fall in love, he might have realized what was happening to him right in that very moment. That moment, where he beat his wings as hard as he could, ascending straight out of hell like a silver and blue arrow, holding that trembling soul hard against his heart. It was the first time he felt mercy, he felt pity, he felt like wanting to coo and soothe the soul, shower it with affection and take all the pain, all the horrors of hell and the fear away from it.

 

    But meeting the man in the flesh, who harbored that soul, had been something else entirely. Dean was messy, complicated, aggressive, impulsive and even arrogant. His intentions were sincere, but his words weren’t. He was troubled, too wrapped up in the idea that people expected him to be certain ways, besides being himself. Castiel knew underneath it all, a big part of Dean was still a little boy at times, a ball of anxiety.

    But he was also brave, selfless, protective and loving, despite everything he had experienced so far. He was more than loving, he was warm. Like a furnace in deepest winter. It showed by how he always saved others first before giving a thought about himself. It was unhealthy, very, but it made Dean, Dean.

    At times, times when things were rough, when they were not on good terms, the angel missed seeing the man’s soul. He even went so far to ask himself where it had gone and if it was even still there when Dean would speak to him with a cold voice. Nearly even with spite when he was angry and hurt.

    Even though he was an angel, he felt. And he too, could be sarcastic, sassy and pissed. Those were the times he was annoyed with the hunter. But the moment the other man laid his eyes on him, he was always again reminded of that golden pulsing light, underneath the peridot green of his eyes. And at times Castiel got too mesmerized with the beauty, liveliness and strength of the soul that he stared on for too long. He even stood too close just to be with that warm light he had engulfed and given back to its body on September 18th 2008.

 

    Castiel didn’t mind the homage to his father’s creation Dean’s body was either. Even with its little flaws like the slightly crooked nose and the bowlegs. And even though Dean was obviously very male.

    But to him gender had never mattered anyway. He himself had been male and female on Earth. And if Dean was a woman and harbored that soul, nothing would have ever been different, or would have changed for the angel. He was indifferent to gender and sexual orientation. He just saw the person for who and not what gender they were.

 

    This brought up the problem at hand though. How would Dean react if Castiel told him about this? Would he reject him, would he be disgusted? The blue-eyed man knew how Dean thought about himself and how he had always only been in heterosexual relationships. No matter if they lasted some months or just a night.

 

    Did Castiel even really want this? Did he want to share his being with another person, human or angel, for all of eternity? Was he even ready, was he mature enough to do so? Was Dean? Did his feelings go so deep and were they reciprocated?

 

    He could try to argue it away with the brightness of Dean’s soul, use it as a reason for the fluttering he felt inside, but fact was, when the hunter smiled at him, Castiel had no choice but to smile back. More than he had ever used to. It was like his vessel’s lips moved on their own accord, and he could feel the slight twitch of his wings, even though they weren’t on this plane of existence. A mere smile brought out such a reaction from a celestial being, a creature more powerful than a human, designed for more. Designed to withstand natural catastrophes, surviving the fall from heaven, gunshot and stab wounds. Designed to live till the end of days. And here he was, falling victim to Dean Winchester’s brilliant smile with crinkly eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

    Castiel had noticed it on a lazy Kansas Saturday afternoon for the first time. He had noticed his best friend seeking out and letting more physical contact happen between them.  

    He had spent the morning gardening. Dean had told him that Castiel indeed lived here now. That this was his home and that he had the right to do as he pleases, that he could do things he liked. The angel had chosen gardening. Simply for the purpose of having fresh food for Dean and himself. But he also liked the thought that he was helping create something, helping something grow with his hands. He had finished planting spring onions, cucumbers and lettuce for the day, just to come back to a plate of warm pasta with tomato sauce Dean had cooked earlier. Both of them would busy themselves around the house as much as they could. Even though Dean had finished building it, there were still parts that needed repairs or improving around the property. Like patching up a hole in the barn’s roof, or getting rid of car parts he would never need.

    At times one of the two would just sit with the other and watch them do their thing, just like they used to do, when Cas had just been a flame of grace in a jar.

 

    But for today, they had retreated to the couch. Dean still thought Cas had to catch up with human pop culture and so they were watching Star Wars. In shirts and sweatpants. Dean was content with his slice of pie as he sat on the couch, Castiel was curled up on the other end, watching the movie intently. Watching TV was still his favorite past time, one Dean would never forget. Problem was that the couch would only fit one person laying down and Castiel was laying all folded up on his end on his side, trying to get comfortable.

    The constant movement caught Dean’s eye at some point and with mock annoyance, he rolled his eyes the next moment.

    “Geez, Cas. Just get over here.” He said to the angel, putting his plate with pie aside, reaching over to tug on his ankle. At first the angel was confused and tensed, the feeling of warmth washing over him again, before he let his friend move him. Dean threw him another pillow before pulling his calves over his own lap. Comfortably he rested his arms on the angel’s fabric clad shins, picking up his plate again to continue eating.

    Usually Dean was never one for cuddling or letting someone just rest like that against him, unless the situation required it, but right now he just did it out of the goodness of his heart. And probably because it felt nice to him too.

 

    This continued day by day, and it seemed only to become more frequent and intense. Both of them could feel the hair on the back of their necks stand when one brushed against the other, when fingertips brushed an arm, or if it even was a casual clap on the shoulder. Their conversations became more intense and their smiles happened more frequently.

 

    The two of them seemed to enjoy it a lot, but Castiel was still holding the worry in the back of his mind, that this would come to an end, this would be taken from him once Dean knew what it really was. And he knew he was being selfish, but he didn’t want to lose that kind of connection. He could nearly hear Dean’s soul, not so much his grace, but his soul, calling out to him.

 

    One morning, when they woke up all entangled in each other again, Dean realized what position they were in, but this time he did not pull back or adjust, but with a sigh he curled in closer to the angel. And that was the moment Castiel knew he could not leave his friend in the dark anymore about the meaning of their behavior and this situation.

 

    “Dean…” He spoke softly to him, looking over at the man with his cheek on his shoulder, as he himself laid on his back. He could not get distracted now by how the sunlight was reflected and brightening that dirty blond hair on his friend’s head, or how many freckles he had on his face or how thick his lashes were, resting against his cheeks.

    “I need to talk to you about something. And you might not like it.”

 

* * *

 

 

    Dean might not know how to use his angel power to its full potential, if any way at all, but he was no blind man.

 

    It did not slip the hunter’s attention how him and Castiel seemed to get along even better than the last time they had spent time together, even before the whole Michael and Lucifer incident happened at Stull Cemetery. It also did not slip his attention how they laughed and smiled more together. This was the most he had laughed in years though, even more than before he had lost his family. It was a pleasant thought, to know it was because of Castiel.

    The hunter was used to the lingering gazes between them and lack of personal space, but by now even every unintentional touch was rewarded with a smile or the soft look in the other one’s eyes.

    The man had even come to terms with the fact that every morning he somehow ended up waking in Castiel’s arm. And the moment he accepted the fact, it stopped feeling awkward and out of place. It started to feel warm and how it should be. As if it had always been meant to be like this. As if that was the place he belonged.

    The thought was scary, but after so many years spent in loneliness, he simply told himself that was the reason. That he was trying to compensate, make up the lack of contact he has felt for the last years. But he too, could feel in his gut that it was more than just his loneliness. Especially since he seemed to have no sort of control over it whatsoever. And sadly, after so many years of knowing himself, he had to admit that his gut was always right.

 

    The moment Castiel had said they had to talk, a cold shiver ran down his back and he picked himself up out of bed. “Let me wake up properly first. I’m still too asleep to have a bomb dropped on me this early.” Dean had said as he went to wash and change, going to start a pot of coffee, to get his mind to be receptive.

 

    Seemingly, this kind of talk always happened in the kitchen between them, with Cas sitting at the table and Dean leaning against the counter at the other side, nursing some coffee. Cas had a mug of coffee too, sitting right in front of him, but it was left untouched for now.

    Dean observed Castiel who looked strangely nervous this morning. They had gotten so accustomed to living together, the angel looked really out of place right now.

     When the angel kept shifting and sighing the hunter lost his temper a bit.

    “Just spit it out. Get over with it. I can’t stand this suspense any longer!” An ungraceful grunt and eyeroll later, he looked at the angel who felt put on the spot. “Are you bored here? Do you want to return to heaven, go see the world, play in a soap opera or what’s the deal with you today?” Dean knew by now Cas was hiding something. And as always, he suspected the worst. Optimism was not his forte.

 

    “It’s nothing like that.” The angel replied, sighing before he looked up with rather sad blue eyes into Dean’s.

    “Then what is it?” Dean sounded more aggressive than he wanted to, but it was too late to take it back now.

    “I think you have felt it too by now. You must have noticed as well…” Castiel started, Dean taking a deep breath before indulging in his coffee some more.

    “Continue.” Was all the hunter then said, giving Cas the room to say what he needed to say.

    “We keep… touching, smiling, seeking each other’s close physical proximity. And by the way we wake up every morning together…” He really had no idea how he was supposed to tell his friend about it.

    “I knew it!” Dean called out in frustration then. “I freaking knew it. Some shit always comes around the corner in the end and bites me in the ass! I knew this was too good to be true!” He then slammed his mug down on the counter a little harder than needed. But it did not slip Castiel’s attention that he had called what was between them something good.

    “It’s nothing bad!” Cas raised his hands in a motion to show he meant no harm and that the other should calm down again. “It’s just… A bond is forming between us. Not the human kind, but the angelic kind. It’s kind of already there, just not finished yet.”

    “Excuse me, wait, what?” Disbelief, utter disbelief. “You saying there is some sort of broadband connection between you and I now?”

    “No, Dean. It’s more… A bond is the sharing of one’s essence with the other’s. Of feelings and thoughts. A pulsing connection, a living connection between two angels, or rarely an angel and a human. It is very intimate and two people can’t be closer than that. And… it’s forever once it is sealed.”

    If Dean still had his mug in hand it would have dropped on the floor and it would have shattered.

    “Wait, are you talking like, angel marriage or something?” That was the only way he could grasp it really. Otherwise he could not imagine it.

    “I think that might be the human equivalent, but it is even more than that.” Cas answered, nearly meekly.

    “What the hell, man!” Dean started pacing, and Castiel knew the moment Dean starts pacing, things might not end well. “How do we stop it?” The hunter asked more on instinct than anything else, then noticed his friend’s face fall. And just that little expression made him feel like a rock was laying on his chest. At times, he just could not stop reacting, could not stop his mouth from being faster than his brain. Years have trained the man to try stop any kind of change, uncertain change even more.

    “I… don’t really know. I have never bonded with someone before. There can be only one real bond in an angel’s life… And I am very… uneducated on the topic. I have seen the forming of a bond happen, but never the breaking or stopping of one.” Well that got them far obviously. But Dean was still pacing, grumbling something under his breath, before he stopped and sighed, looking a little defeated.

    “How did it even happen?” which was a good question, but one to which Cas only had a speculative answer.

    “I think it happened when you charged me with your grace. Initially to do so there was a connection established between your and my grace. Now your grace and my grace keep calling out to each other, moving us closer together, coming in tune with each other. That might be the positive moments we keep experiencing recently with each other. Basically, they yearn to be together, to fully consummate the bond. For us to be _together_ ,” the angel paused for a moment, then proceeded. “The forming of one must be agreed to from both sides though…” The topic was rather delicate and even uncomfortable as Castiel looked out of the window, not able to meet Dean’s eye now, as the hunter stared at him with a mix of more disbelief, slight anger and something that looked like helplessness.

    “I never agreed to such a thing! And why did you, man?” Just that question from Dean was enough to make Castiel gaze back at him with a look of defiance and anger.

    “I was nothing more than a shred of grace, Dean! And I was so happy when you found me, I was ecstatic even!” the angel’s voice rose in volume. “I know it might have been selfish and I realized what I did when these things started to happen once I returned, but can you blame me?! Can you? I was lonely. I missed you too!” His nostrils slightly flared and his one eyebrow rose, the one that always did when he was not pleased. “You shared you grace willingly!” The feelings he just admitted to were left uncommented, brushed under the carpet, so to say.

    “I had no idea what the hell I was even doing!” And now it was a full-blown fight between the hunter and the angel, both yelling. “All I did was want you back, have you with me! I missed you so freaking much!” Dean admitted loudly, and in any other situation he might have gotten embarrassed for the emotional words he spoke openly now.

    “And that was enough it seems…” Realizing how lonely Dean had felt, how much he had longed, Castiel became a little quieter. “The wish for you to see me again, to have me around, was probably enough.”

 

    A short while of silence passed before, calmer now, Dean spoke again, leaning back against the sink once more. “Do I understand this right, that this bond is of a romantic nature?” He tried to keep a poker face, but on the inside, he did not know if he was scared, overwhelmed, or even more scared. Anxiety started to rise up the hunter’s throat, making his stomach churn and feel unsettled. This was not the time to have a panic attack and to start heaving and hurling.

    “Yes.” Castiel did not know if he cringed at his own answer or at Dean’s loud gasp. There was no use in lying to the other man now, was there?

    “And you’re saying my grace is doing that, which is not even mine. Are you telling me my grace will make me go angel gay for you? Freaking awesome!” Even though Dean had no problem with homosexuality, he had a problem with being forced into something. The sarcasm dripping from his tone was obvious too.

 

     “It is not making you do anything. And it is yours Dean. By now it is yours. The frequency might be the same, but I do know you do not carry my brother’s wings. You carry your own, they look different from his. I saw them, and by how yours and mine moved I realized what was happening.” He paused, trying to make the hunter who, in situations like these, when it came to explaining angel matters, could be so dense at times. Castiel also knew he had just told Dean he knew about this for a while now, hoping for his friend to keep his cool.  That was all he could do right now.

    “It’s like your soul flipped the cards. They all laid with their faces and numbers up and they were Michael’s. But now your soul flipped them all over onto their backs, giving them its distinct touch and look, making them yours, making them carry a pattern only you could give them… Your soul is so strong, so vibrant and bright, it took over the archangel’s grace. So, no it is not making you do anything, it is merely speeding things up, so to say, amplifying what was already there.”

    The younger of the two wanted to complain and deny it, but he just clicked his jaw shut, crossing his arms over his chest. Even though Castiel had just dropped a bomb onto him, of something he had tried to keep hidden, he stayed calm. On the outside at least.

    He would have never gone for him, never started anything beyond friendship with him. But coming to think of it, this was how teenagers with a crush usually used to be around each other.

    Cas was only his best friend, but there was no denying Dean liked to have him around. Too much just for a best friend maybe.

    He laughed with him, he didn’t mind the lack of space anymore between them and the way those blue eyes seemed to strip him of everything and look at him, just him in that certain way. When the angel looked at him he knew he saw him and not at what he tried to be for others. But this was Cas we were talking about. Freaking angel of the lord. His best friend. He was not just some hookup. There was too much respect there.

 

     Nor did Dean want to rub his problems and uncleanliness onto him. That was another reason why he would never start anything with the angel.

     Yes, the man thought he was dirty, corrupted, dark. Even after everything that happened to prove to him that his belief was false, he still thought so.

    He just couldn’t.

 

    “What do we do now?”

    “I… don’t know. I can leave and bring half the world between us, if you like. I’d stay away. The bond might die down after a while. Otherwise I don’t know how to weaken or make the connection go away completely. The close proximity we are in now, touching without noticing so often, will only make it grow and push us further together, closer. And I don’t know how long I can control myself, if this continues.”

 

    Seeing Castiel’s tormented expression, how quiet he was, how scared the angel was, how willing he was to sacrifice himself again, Dean took a decision in that moment.

    “I am not losing you again. Ever.”

 

* * *

 

 

    Dean was at a stalemate. He didn’t want Cas to leave, he didn’t want to lose him, but he also knew he was nowhere ready for a bond, of such proportions especially. Nor could he risk jeopardizing their friendship or treating the angel wrong.

    Nor did he know if he even really wanted it, romantically. Sure, what Cas had said was true. If Dean really let his thoughts run free and indulged in the idea of being close to Castiel in that sense he did feel a flutter and tug in his gut.

    But right now, he felt betrayed. Like his own body, his feelings were betraying him and his mind was the only clear thing about himself he had left. It was like being a hormonal teenager again, only that the hormones never reached his brain.

    Yes, at some point he had realized he liked to go for brunettes with blue eyes a lot more than before since he knew the angel, but he checked it off as trivial. Same with how the scent of the sea, rain and ozone Cas seemed to give off, seemed to either excite or calm him.

    He had checked it all off as trivial. Reasoned with himself that it was because Cas was the angel that had pulled him out of hell. Reasoned it with there being a more profound bond. But now there was nothing else he could think about than Cas in a not so friend on friend way. And he hated himself for it.

 

    After that certain conversation, they still spent the days together, but their talking had become less and both of them tried to leave enough space between each other, even if their faces said it was the opposite of what they wanted. In the mornings, they immediately turned away from each other. Even the way they looked at each other had become torture. Cas had the habit of staring at Dean anyway, and when the hunter caught him he was taken aback with what he saw in that gaze. It felt as if Cas wanted to eat him up, devour him, … _claim him._ And it scared Dean. Then on the other hand he was thrilled and his stomach was doing acrobatics inside his body. The hunter cursed himself in his thoughts when he felt his manhood harden, just because of one gaze.

    All he did then though, was pretend to be annoyed, roll his eyes and ask the angel when the hell this would stop.

    It became so bad, the temptation and pull towards each other so bad, Dean started to pace, to clean, to do anything just to do something. He was beginning to become restless and snappy while Castiel could only sit by the window and watch on. The blond couldn’t even look at the brunet anymore.

 

    A book merely sliding off the hunter’s desk when he nudged it with his elbow had him cursing up a storm, making Castiel sigh.

 

    “Dean…” Cas started, but Dean just rose a hand to show him to stop, to shut up because the tremble of that deep voice was even too much. All that was missing to piss Dean off even more with the situation was if he would start to sweat in Cas company.

    He picked the book up in the end and flung it on the couch, dropping himself into his chair with a grunt. It could not go on like this. They soon would not be able to do anything anymore if Cas and Dean would not figure this bond thing out.

 

    With his head in his hands, fingers curled into his hair, Dean gave off another rather unpleased noise. He could not eat, sleep or drink it away. He knew it.

    “Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” Castiel suddenly asked from the kitchen, making Dean’s head shoot up and stare at him.

    “No!” That came out louder than he had intended to. And with a sigh of defeat he repeated, calmer, quieter again: “No… Please stay.” And it rarely happened that Dean used the word please outside of life and death situations.

    “You are suffering.” It was an easy observation for the angel to make, and it was a fact.

    “So are you.” Slowly rising to his feet, Dean carefully walked over to the angel, but he knew he was drawn in like by a magnet, his feet nearly moving on their own accord unless he willed them to stop. They were two opposite poles gravitating towards each other right now.

    “This is ridiculous.” Dean said with a shake of his head. “This is worse than the surprise boners I kept getting with 14 and the constant sexual images that flooded my mind as a teenager.” He laughed softly, Castiel looking up at him at first confused, before he too cracked a smile.

    “I don’t want you to be unhappy. And, shit it happened but I got you back, man. I got my best friend back after so many years and you are sitting right here in front of me.” With his eyebrows knitted, forehead in a frown Dean looked down at the sitting angel, feeling the lump form in his throat. “I am not losing you again. Bond or not.” After another sigh, with his hand slowly reaching out to touch the other’s shoulder – and damn it hit him like a tidal wave, Dean then said, voice airy from the sensation that had suddenly flooded his system. “I don’t want us to be unhappy. I’m doing this.”

 

    Castiel was breathing hard, the tingle and warmth of the grace coursing through his body was a force to be reckoned with. The angel had wanted to object, to pull away but he simply couldn’t.

    He could barely look at Dean when he felt the hunter’s hand slide over his shoulder, palm laying tenderly against his neck. Only now he realized that those calloused hands that could cut, shoot, strangle and hit, could be so tender. It was like a new side to Dean he had suddenly discovered after so many years.

    “Just tell me how we get this under control, angel.” Dean’s voice was so soft, caring even that all Castiel could do was hum in appreciation, his face lax with his eyes closed.

    “You ain’t getting off right now by just a simple touch, are you?” Dean asked in jest, smirking down at him. “I mean I always knew I am quite a firecracker if it comes to these things, but---“

    “Dean.” Cas simply said, looking up at him with slight annoyance as if he was saying: You just ruined my moment. In Dean’s language, it would have been: cockblock.

    “Sorry, sorry, okay.” He slowly pulled his hand back when he watched Castiel get up. It was slightly weird and foreign at first when the angel initiated a hug, but with so much of their bodies touching, grace in such close proximity, the simple gesture had Dean’s knees slightly buckle and he had to hold onto the table to keep himself upright.

    The hug was returned gently at first, then tighter and the hunter let his head lean against his friend’s. He even placed a kiss to the mess of that hair as he pulled him closer, cradling his head to his chest and shoulder. It was nearly like being remote controlled.

    Now even his mind was betraying him, or he himself was betraying him, if that was possible, by thinking: Why have I denied myself this? He was still unclear about where the sudden feelings came from. If they had been more than he had ever let himself believe or think about; letting them simmer deep inside himself. Or if it was the grace making him feel like this, doing more than just amplifying what had been there already. Either way, nothing about it felt bad. And it scared the hunter how easily he accepted it since he let himself feel the depth and the effect of the bond.

 

    “It… feels too good to be true.” The sentence rolled off the hunter’s lips without the man thinking straight in the moment or putting any filter on.

    “It’s practically your soul, all that you are, coming in contact with all that I am. Meshing.”

    “How… do we keep each other sane without… doing all those romantic things?” And by romantic he meant getting it on actually.

    “I think we just make it worse by staying apart. Or it might become not as challenging once the bond is completely consummated.” Cas whispered with that gravelly rumble in his voice into the man’s shoulder while inhaling his so intoxicating scent. It was like walking on clouds, just without the blasphemy.

    Too much in bliss to get upset at the hidden meaning of the formulation Cas chose, Dean simply asked: “What does that even mean?”

    “Mating. Marking each other.”

    “Sex?” It was as if the two of them were high, getting a fix after such a long period of withdrawal.

    “Yes. Copulation, sex, fornication, mating. Call it whatever you want.” Cas kind of reply had Dean chuckle a little, a certain word laying on the tip of the tongue but he withheld it not to ruin the moment.

    “Oh boy.”

 

* * *

 

 

    It was nearly obscene, or close to disgusting, how happy giving into the bond made them feel. They didn’t have to touch all the time, but just standing close to each other, speaking and smiling was enough to make them feel that warmth buzz inside of their chests. The bond had definitely become stronger, especially since the longing feeling over the last days had increased. For what they had to touch before to feel, now was passed between them just by being around each other.

    Dean had never been the kind of man to lose his heart completely, to lose his head even because of a love interest. And he couldn’t believe he thought about Cas like this right now while a part of him was still rebelling against having his life turned into a gigantic chick-flick.

 

    The day had progressed rather quietly, with the hunter teaching the angel how to make waffles. Batter had splattered around the kitchen and the first two came out a little burned out of the iron, but all it did was make them laugh at their own inability to produce proper breakfast. Looking from the outside, one might say they were in their honeymoon phase, just that nothing had really happened between them yet.

    Once Castiel had figured out how much to pour into the iron and how long to let the waffles bake, Dean had put his hands to use to make them some sort of peach syrup or sauce by cooking down canned peaches with sugar. Not like their teeth wouldn’t rot off from smiling so much already.

    But it was better to put his hands to good use to make food, instead of putting them on Castiel.

 

    They didn’t really have plans set out for today, besides Dean changing a slightly run down pipe going from the Impala’s engine to the carburetor. The man had picked it up from a shop a few days ago, but his mind had been too fuzzy to place it correctly under the hood of the car.

    He started on that task after the breakfast and coffee had settled in his stomach, Castiel volunteering to clean up the little mess they had made in the kitchen. With a one-armed hug, his head softly leaning in a bit, Dean had left Cas in the kitchen, already in his so-called work clothes that had enough stains already from fixing the car.

    It was a sunny early autumn day in Sioux Falls, just like the one when he had driven past Bobby’s house, which was now his. The leaves were starting to rustle and be chased away by the wind once they had fallen to the ground. It was a perfect display of golden, orange and red hues with specks of green in between.

    Today he wouldn’t turn on the little radio on his workbench, he chose to hum instead, feeling too peaceful, content and unusually not restless. It was quite a change compared to the days before, he would have to admit that.

 

    Dean was working on the car for good chunk of an hour when he felt a certain presence, that brought a smile upon his lips, come closer. It was a little creepy that he could feel, or rather sense where the angel was and if he moved.

    Just like when Cas had been in a jar, he hopped on the bench and just sat quietly, watching the muscles in Dean’s back tense and relax, his arms moving to change the car parts. He didn’t flinch though when he felt Dean’s hand suddenly feel around his thigh, squeeze pretty close to his crotch. But Dean did more than flinch once he looked over. He had tried to blindly reach for a hex-wrench until he realized he was groping the angel.

    Quickly pulling his hand back and trying to stand up he hit his shoulder on the curved front end of the hood, the metal digging into his body. It was momentary pain and his body immediately healed but he still rubbed it. It was probably more out of the sudden scare he had felt than the pain.

    Since Castiel sat so close by he reached out and touched the other man’s shoulder in a soothing way, feeling for any injury but there was none. The touch was welcome and it made the hunter hum in appreciation, before looking up into Cas’ eyes. They both suddenly started laughing at Dean’s behavior and the awkward situation the man had maneuvered himself into. Even if Cas hadn’t minded it one bit.

    The laughter made the blond man hunch over as he circled his arms loosely around his friend’s waist, cheek to his shoulder. Nearly sheepishly with another one of those brilliant smiles that might make the angel’s knees go weak, Dean looked up at Cas. And then he realized their close proximity. And if he thought close, he actually meant faces mere inches apart.

    He saw that pointy pink tongue dart out, Castiel wetting his lips in the next moment. And a thought he would have called crazy days earlier shot through his mind. His eyes started to flicker their gaze between Cas’ and the angel’s lips, realizing a heartbeat later, his friend was doing the same.

    Without realizing Dean straightened a little more, leaning in to the angel and the last straw broke when he saw the man he had called his best friend for 16 years close his eyes.

 

     The last thing Dean saw was the sun illuminating the ends of Cas hair in a golden light, making him look even more like an angel. As if he wore a halo.

    Soft lips pressed upon a similar pair, both plush tiers melting against each other in a kiss. It was simple. Nothing too fancy, no tongue, not teeth, no making out. Just lips on lips but it had starburst explode behind Dean’s closed eyelids, Castiel gasping into their lip lock.

    They parted for a moment, both breathing heavy, gazing into each other’s half-lidded eyes. Their brains were flooded with dopamine in that moment, but it did not keep from Dean pulling Castiel in closer, the other man loosely wrapping his arms around the hunter’s warm and strong neck.

    They shared another kiss, a more forward, more experimental one as Dean initiated the meshing of their lips, Castiel responding by mirroring the action. The hunter knew his friend was not too versed if it came to kissing, but he seemed to have natural talent.

    With every passing moment and breath, it grew more passionate, their bodies pressed as close together as the workbench would allow. So close, Dean stood between the muscular thighs of the angel he was kissing right now, slightly pressing him back with the force of their kiss as his body and soul yearned for more. It was not a little longing voice in the back of his mind, it was a scream, while his whole body felt on fire and electrocuted but at the same time as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.

 

    By now the kiss was everything. With tongue and teeth, their breathing ragged and their voices betraying them by letting out sinful noises into each other’s mouths.

    They parted with their chests heaving, but still close, forehead to forehead. Dean did not even dare to open his eyes as he tried to control his body, swallowing with a hum, feeling the hardness of his erection pressing into the wood of the workbench without any satisfaction.

    After a short moment, he looked up to meet Castiel’s shining eyes, with pupils blown as wide as his own. And Dean could not help but grin boyishly at the angel.

    With a voice, lower and thicker than usually, he then asked: “Why have we not done this earlier?”

 

Background music: Kansas – Dust in the wind // Foreigner – Feels like the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys know, **comments & kudos** are love! Love your guys insights, ideas and questions!  
> See you next chapter!


	11. Heretic Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To put it in a certain reader's words: Happiness and luck does not stay with Dean for long. But he fights tooth and nail for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endphase of the fanfiction is slowly beginning. But you guys are still in for quite a thrillride and like 5-6 more chapters.  
> Betaed by the lovely [The_Scheming_Turtle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Scheming_Turtle)
> 
> Thank you to long time commenters [jeric](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jeric/) and [MaliaBeliaAmelia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliaBeliaAmelia/)!
> 
>  **Warnings for:**  
>  Sexual Content (NSFW)  
> Violence & Blood  
> Language
> 
> Pretty much the summary of a Winchester's life. Enjoy!  
> If you have wishes for character appearances or anything don't be afraid to shoot me a comment!

    It was a sunny autumn morning in Sioux Falls. The happenings of the last day left Dean slightly worried but also excited. It was as if he could feel the bond coursing through his veins while just lying there in bed with the angel, who was still soundly asleep. But this time Dean ended up being the little spoon. Of course, this went against his typical macho attitude, but hey there were worse things, right? It felt comfortable and warm to have another warm body laying against his back, Castiel’s arm possessively wrapped around his middle. Under other circumstances he would be a little self-conscious about the bit of softness he had going on under his navel, but it was Cas in the end. He knew him inside and out, quite literally.

 

    The feeling was warm and content and for once Dean took something for himself. He was being selfish, he thought, while snugging back into the angel’s body who gave a soft appreciate hum in his sleep-thick voice.

    But then Dean froze, slightly moving his hips before realizing something hard was pressing into the small of his back and curve of his behind. Oh god, Cas had an erection. Oh god, oh my god, was all the hunter thought, eyes flying open. The man was totally overwhelmed by the situation and didn’t know if to move away, stay where he was or even… do something with it? Since when did angels get boners? Well he himself got them too and was obviously classified as one now.

    His mind spun around the fact that he was feeling Cas’ steel pipe pretty much against his ass, but then he stopped his train of thought. It was Cas. They had kissed the day before and it had felt good, so why make a big deal out it now? It was a natural reaction in the end. With a slight grin, he kept to himself, he hoped the angel has had pleasant dreams.

    But Dean’s slight stirring must have woken Cas, since the hunter had tried to adjust somehow subconsciously. Dean simply wasn’t used to dealing with someone else’s morning wood besides his own.

    Cas seemed to catch on quickly though, trying to move away. “Oh, Dean. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I had no control---“ the angel apologized and explained himself, but again, as if under remote control, Dean placed his thicker and calloused hand over the angel’s.

    “It’s okay.” He said simply, clearing his throat, and after a while he added: “Stay.”

 

    If they were ever going to complete the bond, thinking about it logically, he would have to get used to it, right?

    “It’s new for you though, right?” He wasn’t looking at the angel, but quietly speaking to him, while the sun peeked through the curtains, throwing a strip of sunlight over their covered legs.

    “Yes, Dean. I have never experienced such a sensation before. It should not happen without my consent though.”

    At that, the blond just laughed, turning his head a little to look at Cas with a smile that definitely reached his eyes. The angel couldn’t help but return the smile.

    “That’s not how it works Cas.” Dean just couldn’t help chuckling then. “It’s pretty normal. It happens because you had a nice dream, or just randomly.” There was a short pause where Dean contemplated if he really should ask, but to himself, he just thought: screw it.

    “Does it feel nice? Laying with it against me?” No Dean, you wouldn’t blush now. Pfew, okay, chick-flick moment avoided.

    But Cas wouldn’t be Cas if he didn’t pull Dean in a bit closer, giving his own hips a push against the hunter’s body, his face looking as if he was really thinking about his answer. All of this made Dean gasp silently in his throat, still trying to look unaffected.

    “I would say it is quite pleasant. You’re warm and that part of your body is softer than others.” Okay, now that made a blush creep up the hunter’s throat, the man clearing his throat then. Castiel realized he might have said too much and leaned his head in closer, his hand softly stroking over the other man’s side, as if he was apologizing.

 

    And that already was enough to set the nerve endings of Dean’s body on fire, making him shudder involuntarily. Damn that bond and making his body hypersensitive.

    “You seem to enjoy this kind of affection.” Castiel stated in his typical analytic way, Dean merely nodding, trying not to be embarrassed.

    “I think… since Lisa I haven’t woken up besides anyone anymore. At least no one I was in this kind of relation with.” Yes, he purposefully avoided the term relationship, because how should he know what they even were. It’s not like they were boyfriends, or were they? Even only in his mind that term sounded weird… for now.

 

    “It’s… nice. I’m just not used to it anymore.”

    “Would you like me to stop touching you then?” Castiel asked, hand slightly pulling away, as did his warm body halfway.

    “No!” Dean quickly said, cursing himself a moment later in his thoughts for being so forward about it. “I mean… if you want to you can stop. I won’t make you stop.”

    That was all it took for Castiel to press close again, continuing to rub the pad of his thumb to Dean’s skin, yes, his skin since his shirt had ridden up a little during the night. Boldly he felt the angel press his hips closer even, and Dean knew that move. Could have been one out of his very own repertoire. It would be something he would do in that situation too, softly asking for attention, for more.

 

    Dean knew he would be facing an internal battle after this. He still hadn’t made his peace with it. It wasn’t like his father’s indoctrination of how a man should be would just leave overnight. But it felt too good, it felt too right. Bond or not. When he looked into those endless pools of the bluest blue he could have ever imagined, the little nagging voice that sounded a lot like Dean Winchester’s went out of the window. Hopefully to space even.

    When Cas looked at him like this, not just the innocent look he used to have, but with head a little tilted forward, pupils and irises looking up from under his eyebrows, he knew there was more. Dean knew there was more than friendship because it got his breath caught in his throat and his heart started hammering so hard against his ribcage and his stomach tingling that he thought he might suffocate if something didn’t happen goddamn right now. The emotional need became so grave he could swear a little more and his eyes might water. The way the angel looked at him, and then boldly kissed the naked patch of shoulder his shirt’s collar revealed, made Dean pretty much break and be rebuilt in that moment. He felt like he was being unraveled, like he just came undone. When Castiel looked at him, he felt like a poem. Flowing with rhythm, artistry, the words carefully picked. When Castiel looked at him like this, Dean felt… beautiful.

    And just that thought made his eyes nearly prickle with tears.

 

    The hunter laid mostly on his back now, Cas pressed up against the side of his hip, as Dean turned his head further, nudging Cas’ nose with his own, before his eyes closed and Dean pressed a kiss onto the other man’s lips in their quiet bedroom, that bathed in sunlight this morning. Under the covers, experimentally Dean brushed the backs of his fingertips over the tip of the angel’s still fabric clad erection.

    He could feel the shudder go through Cas’ body, his breath hitching against his own lips, gasping. Dean’s eyes opened as he watched the reaction, watching as Cas’s own opened as well.

 

    Castiel hadn’t expected anything really to happen, but it was too evident in both of them that there was no turning back anymore. And that both of them let it happen, embraced it. Even though the angel definitely knew that the way Dean had lived his life, how he had been raised, might hopefully in the beginning, only prevent him from enjoying this to its fullest potential.

    To the angel’s surprise, his affections were accepted this morning, even reciprocated in a way he hadn’t expected. The might not be human but he knew what it meant to be touched there, even if just ever so slightly. And he also knew what a step it was for Dean to take.

    Softly, he grabbed on Dean’s hip to pull him onto his side, making him face him. Both of them looked at each other, Dean having switched his hands before gripping Cas a little tighter, feeling the outline of his manhood through the fabric of his boxers. A kiss followed, that was less shy and a greeting, than it was more passion and beating hearts.

    Cas hissed and his touch wasn’t just a caress anymore, it was a firmer grip that ran up and down the hunter’s side, thumb softly digging into the molds of his ribs. Even higher up brushing a perky nipple of Dean’s. Castiel couldn’t help but to watch the reaction, drinking it in, too mesmerized. He was doing that to Dean. He was giving him such pleasure just with the mere flick of a thumb to his nipple. And underneath he could feel his soul buzz and dance.

 

    “Cas…” was all Dean got out in a raspy voice when the sensation shot through him like an electric shock. Or more like lightning had struck him. He felt the hairs on his arms and legs stand, his chest in goosebumps. “Cas…” he whispered again, but more like in a plea this time.

    Their mouths collided again in a breathless slightly sloppy kiss. Dean wasn’t gonna tiptoe around it, he was rather known for challenging things head on. And so, his hand slipped from Cas’ boxers, to dive into them. Fingertips pressed against his skin, before slipping under the elastic of his underwear. While kissing the angel, his eyes were half lidded and he looked at him through thick lashes, watching him hold his breath and his jaw go slack before he would moan softly the moment Dean’s fingers had raked through his public hair, slowly enclosing his shaft to give him a slow pump.

    At the next pump Castiel moaned more openly, his hands and lips having completely forgotten how to move. And it was okay for Dean. The younger of the two exactly knew how it felt. In this moment, it was more than enough for him, his own very present erection forgotten for now. In this small, confining space, in their little bubble, warmed by sunlight, bodies relaxed and rejuvenated from sleep, Dean wanted to nothing more than please the angel, watch him lose himself bit by bit. Dean simply wanted Castiel to give into him, trust and let himself fall just to be caught by the hunter.

 

    At some point the strokes and pumps became slicker and faster. Castiel was coherent enough to push his underwear down to his knees at least while kissing Dean once more, then even taking his shirt. He exposed his tan skin with the lean muscles underneath to the hunter, who couldn’t help but caress over his naked side with his other hand, leaning over to place kisses to his chest. Mercilessly, he kept his hand moving up and down on Cas’ hard and precum slick shaft, giving it a twist of his wrist from time to time to make the angel keen a little.

    “Take it off. Take it all off.” Came the request, though it might have even been a command, judging by the tone Castiel used, looking at Dean. Again, he had that feral and animalistic look in his eyes, the one that had bothered Dean before. Bothered on the outside but not on the inside. This time, the blond let himself give into it.

    He had to let go of Cas to tug his shirt off and it came off easy and quick, Castiel’s hands immediately on his skin, feeling his chest and stomach. Dean shivered and took a bit more time to push his boxer briefs off. Not because he was a tease, but because he was a little self-conscious. Dean kicked back the covers to pull his underwear off completely. And since he was at it he sat up slightly, leaning over the other to pull his off his legs too. Since when did Castiel have those thick thighs? They flexed under his gaze, the insides of them looking soft. Those insides that lead to the other man’s hard and proudly standing erection. The thoughts Dean was having about those thighs let alone might even be blasphemous. Cas was an angel, goddammit! As if his memory had waited for him to make the connection, AC/DCs You Shook Me All Night Long started playing in his mind. Oh, how he would love to get knocked out by those American thighs…

 

    With both of them completely naked, Castiel moved, sliding his naked body against and half atop of Dean’s which pulled the hunter out of his thoughts. The moment so much skin touched skin, both of them couldn’t help but groan. Their bodies fit together as Cas slid one leg between Dean’s thighs, and the hunter did the same with the angel. The sensation was more than overwhelming.

    Never before had Dean found himself in this position, but he really couldn’t care less right now, when his arms looped around Cas’ neck and shoulders. The kiss he pulled the angel into was different though. It wasn’t speaking so much of need and the pull the bond had on them, but Dean could feel his own emotions pour into it, and he let it happen because it brought a smile upon his lips. And then he could feel it brought one upon Castiel’s as well. His body though was needy. It nearly pushed up on its own accord, hips seeking friction, just like his partners. Both males fell into a slow grind, a slow rutting of their bodies with their thighs providing them something to push and rub against.

 

    And maybe the angel didn’t have much experience if it came to sex, though this was new territory for Dean as well, never having really been naked and in a bed with another man, but Castiel adjusted his body on top of Dean’s to trap their erections between their bodies, just to grab both of them with his long fingers and stroke them.

    A loud gasp resounded inside the room, Dean grabbing on Cas unruly bedhead hair to pull him into a rather desperate kiss as he was being touched. The first time in years. And he nearly lost his mind at the feeling. His back arched softly, eyes closing as he threw his head back into the pillow. Dean had always been used to be the dominant part, but like this, underneath Cas who had taken over the reins, he felt himself be more responsive, louder and more desperate. Dean didn’t feel trapped or uncomfortable though.

    But he would bring a little of his own twist into this. Never had he thought he would spread his legs, but it would be easier like that, the angle would be easier. “Slow down a second, babe.” He said as he adjusted, not knowing if Cas had realized how he had just called him. But it just slipped out.

    A mere moment later he brought his lube-slick hand between them, to grab both their erections too, together with Cas.

    There were no words to describe it really. It was pure joy, lust, need and something more delicate blooming between them as they were caught in this sexual act. Dean moaned openly and Cas had started to grind against him, into his palm to give both more friction. When that angel moaned though, it made Dean shiver and keen underneath him, his free hand scratching over his back slightly.

    They fell into this grinding, bodies sliding together as both chased their orgasm by now. No, it wasn’t intercourse, it was far from it and Dean might be slightly relieved by that fact, but it was intense enough to make both of them sweat and pant in huffs.

    Their kisses were sloppy and Castiel soon laid more of his body on Dean’s as he kept pushing them together, lips latching on the hunter’s bare neck, kissing and sucking, just to make him become louder.

    The longer this continued, the wilder the bucking of their hips became until rhythm faltered and was replaced by irregular snaps. Locking their eyes, words didn’t have to be spoken as Dean nodded with his eyebrows knitting, practically begging Castiel with his expression to get him off, to make him come undone.

    The angel didn’t really look better though.

 

    With their breathing coming to a crescendo, then to an absolute halt, Dean was the one to jump off the cliff and come first. “Holy… Cas!” was all he called out when he breathed again, gasping quickly as he came in long ropes of white semen between them, painting their stomachs in a mess. Castiel followed a moment later, as if Dean’s own orgasm had triggered his.

    “Dean.” Cas said a little calmer than Dean had called out his name before, groaning against his skin and grinding out his orgasm, adding to the mess between them. Dean could hear the angel lick his lips as he hummed between his last moans in that post-orgasm bliss.

 

    Their bodies laid in a slight layer of sweat together on the bed, the sun kissing Cas’ already tan skin, Dean covered by him. The latter started to caress the angel’s skin after a while with a hum, wordlessly laying with him. They just enjoyed each other’s warmth and the soft buzz between them that had him so relaxed but in the same moment buzzing with energy and joy. He couldn’t fathom how it would feel to seal the bond. And slowly, bit by bit he was getting more and more comfortable with the thought.

 

    His clean hand came up to brush the hair out of Cas’ face who had laid his cheek upon the hunter’s shoulder, giving him a smile. He looked so wrecked and… fucked, that it was absolutely sexy.

    “Okay, hot wings.” Dean smirked, moving so Cas would roll off him. “As much as I seem to like your nakedness on top of my nakedness… This is starting to dry and get yucky. So, I think I want to shower.”

    Cas didn’t nothing else than grunt in response as he rolled onto his back and spread out on the bed on his back in all of his naked glory. And he was quite something to look at. He was smaller than Dean, not as sturdily built but he was nowhere near thin and frail. He simply had what you would consider a runner’s body, lean with no unnecessary muscle. And Dean knew the nerdy looking angel could definitely hold his own.

 

    Dean gave him a one over as he got out of bed, Castiel sitting up. The hunter too knew he was walking around naked in front of the other, but what was there left to hide? But the angel didn’t look too happy when Dean was about to leave, having sat up.

    And yeah, realizing then, Dean went back to Cas to press a kiss to his lips, leaning down to angel. This was no walk of shame and a quick good bye see you never later.

    “You wanna shower with me?” Dean asked with a smile, reaching out to take Cas’ hand to pull him up. There was too much feeling, too much trust, between them for Dean not to care if he made Castiel feel insecure and hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

    Dean was just carrying two heavy bags with groceries home from the Impala when his phone rang. Him and Castiel had gone for lunch earlier since they pretty much skipped breakfast due to other activities. Dean wouldn’t dare to call it a date but it sort of had been one. With sharing food, talking and stealing glances. He had to admit he was getting used to it and better at just letting it happen, going with the flow. He would even go so far to say that he had accepted this situation by now. Over the years, he had simply learnt to make the best out of things. Not like this was unpleasant. It was the opposite, definitely. Still, when he thought about it he couldn’t really wrap his mind around the fact, that he was indeed kissing an angel. And even more than just kissing an angel in a male vessel. After so many years spent on this planet, life and fate still held surprises for him.

 

    But with a fully functional kitchen it was a must to have groceries and to cook. Years on the road had him yearning for good home cooked meals, even if he had to cook them himself. And there was a lot of rabbit food in his bags, as he would call it. Hopefully he wasn’t completely turning into his brother.

 

    Setting the bags down quickly, as Castiel walked past him with a quizzical look upon his face, Dean fished his phone out of his pocket. The display said: Jody.

    That was a rare occasion. Since Claire’s death these two had barely spoken, simply because Dean, his voice and his face, constantly reminded her of the fact that one of her adopted daughters was dead. And Dean had hidden the fact from her that Cas was back. And that had only been possible due to Claire dying.

 

    “Hi Jody, what’s up?” he asked casually.

    “Hey Dean. I know it’s been a while… and you don’t work for me anymore, but I need your help with a case.” Was all Jody said in a solemn voice over the phone.

 

* * *

 

 

    Turns out demons were once more in town, kidnapping innocent people without a reason. And Dean could smell this was a trap, since they didn’t really even try to cover up their tracks and activity. And he knew it was a trap for him, and he knew who set it up: Crowley.

    But what could he do? He knew if he didn’t take action, that it wouldn’t stop until he gave it his attention. He knew Crowley was one hell of a tenacious bastard.

 

    Jody had mailed him the reports and everything she had on the case. Turns out he wouldn’t have to do much digging of his own. The victims were last seen in the close vicinity of an empty warehouse. Checking property records, showed him that it recently has been bought, by a certain Mr. MacLeod. Son of a bitch didn’t even try to hide himself.

    Castiel in the meantime just watched on as Dean was packing up his gear. It had been long since he had seen the man switch back into hunter mode. Once he was in his clothes and armed, it was as if you had switched the Dean he had gotten to know over the last weeks, with the Dean he had known for years. His expression was stern, the way he carried himself completely different. Stiffer, less fluid, as if he was always on edge, as if he was ready to jump into a fight. He was a soldier, still after so many years, Castiel came to realize.

    “I’m coming with you.” The dark haired said when Dean was packing up the last bits of holy water and salt, walking into the study in his typical trench coat and suit. It was as if both of them had changed back into their uniforms after a short vocational leave from the force.

 

    As if to mock the man, the radio played Highway to Hell once they hit the road, Dean short of words for most of the drive. He had known he couldn’t talk Castiel out of it because his personal angel was one stubborn and tough son of a bitch. But deep down he wouldn’t have it any other way, even though he was afraid. He was afraid the angel might get hurt because Dean couldn’t fathom what Crowley had cooking. A big side of the blond felt very protective of Castiel. Even though the other probably had more experience in wars and battles than he had. And that said quite a bit. But he didn’t want to lose him. He just had gotten him back. And if the thought of losing the angel had been crushing eight years ago, by now it was devastating.

 

    “You know it’s a trap, right?” Dean asked Castiel, though it was more a statement when he was driving the last bit of the route to the warehouse, finally breaking the silence.

    “I know.” Was all his trench coated friend said, both of them falling back into silence.

 

    The 1967 Chevy Impala crept through the deserted roads of the industrial park the warehouse sat in, since nightfall had come over the city. Dean didn’t even bother to park the car further away since he knew they were either being watched or been tracked the whole time once they had left their property. From his vantage point, he could see two goons at the front door, three more circling the warehouse.

    “Feel like smiting ‘n roasting some demon ass?” Dean asked Cas, making sure all his gear was in place as he started to sneak to the building. He had no idea where the cold confidence came from but he knew the two of them could easily take out five demons.

 

    Ten minutes later Castiel had burnt out the eyes of two demons who had been patrolling the property, Dean having taken out the other patrolling guard. Both of them came back to the front door, each of them from the other side. Before one of the demons could warn the other one ended up with a hand on his head, the one closest to Dean with the demon knife in his back between his ribs. He gave a grunt as the last bits of demonic life flickered out of him and the lifeless body dropped to the ground.

    After checking if him and Castiel were unharmed, Dean opened the door, peeking in, knife in hand before he stepped in, Cas following closely.

    The warehouse was empty, deserted. Not even all lamps inside were working so for someone who was only human seeing anything inside there would have been hard.

    Both of them walked in further, no sounds, nothing to be heard or seen. Standing pretty much in the middle of it Dean sighed loudly.

    “Okay Crowley, I know you’re here. You can come out now.” He called into the echoing emptiness of the building.

    And barely a moment later the king of hell came into view, followed by his mother who carried a book. Was that… The Book of the Damned?! Son of a bitch had broken into the bunker!

    “My, my, fancy meeting you here Dean!” Crowley called out to him, walking down the metal steps from the first floor to the ground level, but clearly standing at a safe distance.

    And this, was the first time Dean realized he could see the demon’s real face, which made his own twist in disgust.

    “Holy shit, are you one ugly son of a bitch under that meatsuit!” the hunter said without a care, Castiel being quiet. Just as Rowena was.

    “Well aren’t you a charming flirt? I can only return the compliment.” Crowley answered with a smug smile, his eyes flickering to the ground for a short moment.

    Dean hadn’t been used to being on this side of things, but his eyes too flickered to the ground, seeing the wet line by their feet. Quickly he pushed Castiel to the side as Crowley nodded. That was the cue for Rowena to start chanting and throwing a huge blast of magic their direction. Dean managed to dive out of harm’s way, just to realize he had never been the aim of her blast. Castiel had been.

 

    With a look of horror on his face and a cold shiver running down his spine he looked to his side, seeing his friend, no, more than his friend. His mate. And Cas laid beaten and bloody on the ground, blood bubbling up from his mouth as his shirt was torn into shreds.

    “Dean…” he got out hoarsely between all the blood.

    And without further thinking, Dean had his feet under him again, sprinting over to the other as Rowena prepared another blast to finish Castiel off. He could take one, he knew he could. Deep down inside something told him he could, to be brave, to protect Castiel. Sliding on his knees over the rough concrete ground he shielded the wounded angel with his body, prepared to take the hit to his back. Only it never came.

    All he could feel was the disruptive and massive wave of energy passing over his head before Rowena gasped and Castiel’s eyes grew at least two sizes.

    Only now the hunter realized they were surrounded by light that was definitely not Rowena’s spell. Straightening himself up, he looked around himself to stare over his shoulder in utter shock.

    The hunter had six huge and majestic angel wings sprouting from his back. And there wasn’t a single feather out of place, not a hint of damage done to him by the magic. For a moment he was awestruck, staring at the white but nacre glistening white feathers, their ends fading into the green of his eyes.

 

    Castiel coughed, which brought Dean back to reality in that very moment. The hunter realized his friend was laying there, dying.

    “Don’t leave me now, babe. Don’t you dare!” He had tears prickling his eyes as he looked down at the man. “You’ll get through this. We will.” He could feel the bond aching, becoming weaker and it scared him. It scared him to go back to that cold, dark and lonely place he had been in before Castiel had returned. Only now he realized that the bond, no, that Castiel was the one, the only thing, that was able to fill that gaping hole, that all devouring black hole he had carried inside of him all these years.

    He wouldn’t lose it. He couldn’t.

 

    “Oh, is your little angel boyfriend dying? I must say, my mother’s aim seems to be a little off today.” Crowley said with a snarl, trying not to show how scared he was of the celestial appendages Dean carried now. Those appendages that seemed to sharpen and stand up high over his head in dominance and threat.

    “You little piece of shit. You goddamned son of a bitch… I’m going to rip you into shreds. You’ll wish that you never had come out of Rowena’s womb…” Dean muttered under his breath as he had gotten up, having to leave Cas where he was in order to get rid of the threat both the demon and his mother posed to them. And the demon knew a yelling loud hunter was okay to deal with, but Dean became downright scary when his voice was cold, calculating and quiet.

    Now, fear was written all over Crowley’s face, Rowena frozen in shock as Dean’s eyes glowed with such an intense and bright silver light, that they were nearly white. Even his wings started to slightly glow and pulse with power. Crowley had made the biggest mistake he could ever make in pissing Dean off the way he did right now by taunting him.

 

    The hunter had no idea how it happened, but suddenly a weapon slid into his hand. And it wasn’t your run of the mill angel blade. It was a middle long sword, with a proper handle, laced with veins of light. Veins of power, coming directly from Dean’s arm. Now the grace of Michael was finally in possession of his sword. Or rather, Dean was the sword and possessed the power to use it now.

 

    Filled with rage he charged at the king of hell and his mother, a sure grip on the sword as his feet barely touched the ground anymore. He was like a bolt of light which came to a stop when Rowena, in self-defense did the only thing she could and tossed the book at him. Abandoning her most prized possession, she ran off without seeing it turn to ashes as Dean sliced the sword through it. Crowley managed to whistle to call a hellhound as he was more a lover than a fighter and tried to find a quick escape.

    The hunter only laughed when he saw the demon’s pet, waiting for it to charge before he wielded his sword as he sidestepped. There was only a loud whimper from the hellhound, before nothing else was heard. Not even a grunt came from the pet anymore as the demonic animal bled its black blood onto the concrete floor from a gashing wound in its throat. Crowley used that very moment to turn into thin air, leaving Dean filled with rage behind.

 

    “I’m going to kill you, you maggot! I will squash you under my shoe and turn your beloved hell into ashes!” Dean yelled after the demon into thin air. “Do you hear me?!”

 

    His rage subsided the moment he felt the tug on his heart, the twist in his gut. With his last breath, Cas’ grace weakly called out to him.

    The sword disappeared as Dean started to run, before falling onto his knees by the other angel. He was still alive, but barely. His light was fading. And if he died this time he would be gone for real.

    “Please, please, please, Cas! Don’t do this to me! Don’t leave me!” Dean spoke frantically as he pulled the angel’s upper body into his lap, his voice thick, clogged by a lump in his throat. He hugged the nearly lifeless body to his chest, his wings curling around them, cocooning both of the men. “Don’t leave me, Cas… Please. I need you. You have no idea how much I need you…”

    And then it happened, he sobbed and a tear fell onto the angel’s face, having rolled off from Dean’s cheek as he held him tight, chest heaving. “You can’t do this to me. Please. I… will burn this whole universe don’t if you leave me. You’re the only thing that completes me! Please!” By now he was crying out to the heavens in desperation, face wet as his bottom lip wobbled ungracefully. Those were no silent and gracious man-tears, this was what they called gross and ugly sobbing.

    “Please Castiel…” His voice was a whisper now as he felt the bond dying down completely. There it was again, darkness, coldness, loneliness. No connection anymore. Nothing. Just him alone once more. For all eternity. Castiel had no heartbeat anymore. There was no breathing, nothing.

    And so, the hunter curled over his lifeless frame, sobbing harder. “Please, Cas! I love you, you son of a bitch!”

 

    It started faintly at first, a glowing on his hands, engulfing Castiel’s body bit by bit, from head to toe. It made Dean’s eyes open again since he had no idea what was going on, but he could see the wounds slowly closing, Castiel’s skin becoming rosy again.

    Realizing it was his doing he pressed one of his hands over the angel’s heart, panting with tears stinging his eyes again.

    “Come on, come on.” Dean gritted his teeth, focusing the most he could, closing his eyes to push at what he could feel had been their bond. It laid in shreds, remnants of that pulsing and living connection they have had. It was like grabbing for a thread of silk in the darkness and he tried, missing. And tried again, but it swayed and was faint. It nearly seemed to turn into smoke before he grabbed onto it. If he looked closely, the thread seemed to be pictures, moments and memories of the two of them, slowly becoming black and white before they faded more and more.

    “No.” was all he said and thought in that moment, pushing all he was, all his energy and feeling into bringing those pictures back, filling them with color and motion until they were vibrant, bright and buzzing again like they used to.

    He was so caught up, latching onto that connection he visualized, trying to keep it alive until it had grown so much it was nearly overwhelming, robbing him of his senses in the real world.

    The one thing that brought him back was a hand on his arm and a pair of blue eyes that stared up into his.

 

    “It’s okay Dean. I will never leave you again.”

 

Background music: Bon Jovi – Bad Medicine // AC/DC - Shoot to thrill // Avenged Sevenfold - Heretic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No no I ain't taking Cassie from Dean again nuh uh.  
> But be prepared for more NSFW, Crowley in trouble, a surprise visit from Rowena and an enemy of cosmic proportions waiting for Dean and Cas at the end of the line. <3
> 
>  
> 
> **Comments & Kudos are love and I live for them!**


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